“She did,” said Caina, remembering Agria Palaegus and the others. Agria, who had murdered her own daughter for renewed youth.
“Do you think the Moroaica taught disciples out of charity?” said Nadirah. “She keeps a circle of women with arcane power about her at all times. For if she is slain, her spirit will claim one of their bodies for her own.”
Jadriga had indeed taught a circle of disciples in Marsis. But by the time Caina faced her for the last time, the most powerful of the disciples had been slain, and the rest overpowered. And when Caina fought Jadriga, they had been alone, save for Nicolai…
“Oh,” said Caina, voice soft.
Sicarion had been right. It wasn’t merely a part of Jadriga’s power that had lodged inside Caina. It was all of Jadriga’s power, her entire spirit.
“Then why,” said Caina, throat dry, “then why am I not the Moroaica? Why has she not possessed me?”
Nadirah closed her eyes, whispering a spell, and Caina felt a sudden spike of sorcery. She reached for her dagger and Nadirah’s eyes opened.
They had gone completely black, like pits into nothingness. Her shadow twitched and writhed at her feet like a banner in the wind.
“Because you are scarred,” said Nadirah. Her voice hissed and echoed, as if coming from a long distance away. “I see it in your shadow, beneath the darkness of the Moroaica. You were wounded, your shadow maimed by the sorcery of another. Because of that, you can feel the shadows. You can sense the sorcery of another. But because of that scarring, your aura is…fractured. Like cracks in a pane of glass. So the Moroaica can inhabit your body, can speak to your shadow and speak through your shadow…but she cannot control you.”
“So the Moroaica is a round peg,” said Caina, “and I am a square hole.”
Nadirah shook herself and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they had returned to their amber color.
“A crude analogy,” said Nadirah, “but essentially accurate.”
“So what does that mean?” said Caina. “So long as I am alive, the Moroaica is trapped?”
“Yes,” said Nadirah. “If the Moroaica could release herself from you and claim another body, she would have done so by now.” She shivered. “I feared she would possess me the moment you stepped into my chamber. I wish you long and happy life, Ghost. For as long as you live, the Moroaica is trapped within you.”
Caina nodded, uneasy. Sicarion had offered to kill Caina and release Jadriga, yet Jadriga had refused. Why? Was the Moroaica waiting until she could find a more suitable host?
Or did Jadriga think she could slowly persuade her, over the years, to do as she wished?
It was a disturbing thought.
Caina pushed it aside. She had more immediate problems.
“Marzhod thinks you can help us,” said Caina. “Can you?”
“Perhaps,” said Nadirah, “though I prefer not to become involved in his business.”
“Sensible,” said Caina. “But if you don’t help us, I might get killed, and the Moroaica would need a new host.”
“You bargain well,” said Nadirah. “And I must aid you. Something is wrong in Cyrioch.”
There were many things wrong in Cyrioch. Caina remembered the slaves, the gladiatorial games, the crushing poverty of the commoners. But somehow she didn’t think Nadirah had that in mind.
“The shadows are wrong,” murmured Nadirah. “The netherworld whispers of the coming destruction. The shadow of some dire catastrophe lies upon Cyrioch, just as the shadow of the Stone lies upon my house. We stand at the cusp of a terrible disaster.”
“You mean the war between the Empire and Cyrica,” said Caina, “if Cyrica rebels against the Empire.”
“No,” said Nadirah with a shake of her head, the jewels at her throat flashing in the candlelight. “A war between mortal men, terrible as it is, is only a passing thing. The blood and death pass, and in a few decades it is forgotten entirely. No, this is something worse. A catastrophe of sorcery, of the wrath of the netherworld spilling into the realm of mortal men.”
“I don’t understand,” said Caina.
“You have come to me,” said Nadirah, “for help about the statues, have you not?”
Again Caina felt a chill. “How do you know this? Did the spirits tell you?”
“Every time a man of flesh and blood is transformed to cold stone,” said Nadirah, “there is an…echo in the netherworld, for lack of a better word. A ripple. Your Magisterium cannot see it. The fools view sorcery as a cold science, not a living art. But one trained in the traditions of Anshan can see it.”
“So what is turning those men to stone?” said Caina. “Do you know?”
“No mortal sorcery can transform a man to stone,” said Nadirah. “Only the powers of a spirit. Specifically, an elemental spirit of earth. Such a creature, if it came to the mortal world, would have the power to transmute living flesh to stone.”
“Why would an elemental spirit come to Cyrioch?” said Caina. “Did someone summon it?”
“Beyond any doubt,” said Nadirah. “A sorcerer of great power might have summoned the spirit and bound it as a weapon against his enemies. Or it might have been accidentally released from hibernation.”
“Hibernation?” said Caina. “Spirits are like…animals? They hibernate over winter?”
“Not quite,” said Nadirah. “Spirits are immortal. Yet sometimes they enter a torpor for long centuries and rest within physical objects in our world.”
“I’d never heard of such a thing,” said Caina.
“You have, though you know it not” said Nadirah. “You know of the fall of Old Kyrace?”
“It was the end of the Third Empire,” said Caina. “The Emperor invaded Kyrace and seized the island. Just as they stormed the citadel, the volcano at the center of island exploded with such force that it destroyed the entire island.” Old Kyrace had been destroyed, but many of the Kyracians escaped to New Kyre - and the hostility between the Kyracians and the Empire continued to this day.
“That is what the histories say,” said Nadirah, “but they overlook a key detail. A great elemental spirit of flame was bound beneath the mountain. In the desperation of defeat, the Lord Archon of Kyrace shattered the chains binding the elemental, and the chaos of the spirit’s release destroyed the island, the Emperor, the assembled Legions of Nighmar, and the Lord Archon himself.” She shrugged. “Not all the hibernating spirits in our world are beings of such potency. But such spirits are scattered throughout the nations. The elemental that is turning your Ghosts to statues was either released by accident, or deliberately summoned by a sorcerer.”
“The Magisterium used to summon elementals,” said Caina, remembering what she had read, “but the knowledge was lost centuries ago, during the fall of the Fourth Empire.” But that didn’t count for much. The Magisterium had also banned necromancy and pyromancy, and Caina had encountered both among the magi.
Nadirah shrugged. “Regardless of whether or not the elemental was summoned, one is loose in Cyrioch. Until you find the spirit and return it to the netherworld, it will continued to strike.”
“And can you help us find the elemental?” said Caina.
“Yes.”
“How.”
Nadirah smiled. “Bring me a Kindred assassin and the path will become clear.”
“The Kindred?” said Caina. “Did the Kindred summon this elemental?”
“No,” said Nadirah. “But the shadows have whispered to me. They are connected, the Kindred and the elemental, though I cannot see how. But bring me a Kindred assassin of sufficiently high rank, and I can make him speak. Then all his secrets shall be yours.”
Caina thought it over. The offer seemed sincere, but no one in their right mind trusted a wielder of sorcery. “You know this catastrophe is coming, whatever it is. Why not leave Cyrioch?”
“Where would I go?” said Nadirah. “If I return to Anshan, I will be killed. Your Magisterium does not tolerate foreign wielders of sorcery within the h
eart of the Empire, and I would be forced to live in hiding. Both the Istarish and the Kyracians hate and fear the occultists of Anshan. Cyrioch is the only place I shall find refuge, and if it is destroyed, I will have nowhere else to go.”
“All right,” said Caina. “We have a deal.”
###
Caina stepped back into the street, blinking at the sunlight.
“That took too long,” said Marzhod, scowling. “What did she tell you?”
“Some kind of elemental spirit is loose in the city,” said Caina. “A spirit of earth, turning men to stone.” Several of the Sarbian mercenaries muttered something in their native language and made signs to ward off evil.
“Lovely,” said Marzhod. “Did she have any helpful suggestions on how to stop it?”
“She wants a Kindred assassin,” said Caina, “one of high rank. She claims that the Kindred and the statues are somehow linked, and that her spells can make a high-ranking assassin reveal his secrets.”
She felt no need to mention the other things Nadirah had told her. Could the Moroaica see out of Caina’s eyes? Did she know Caina’s thoughts? Was she listening to the conversation even now?
“Oh, yes, that’s simple enough,” said Marzhod. “A high-ranking Kindred assassin. We can find one of them easily! Let me just jaunt down to the market and pick one up.”
“Marzhod,” said Theodosia, “don’t whine. It’s unbecoming. We need to find a Kindred of high rank anyway.”
“Fine,” said Marzhod. “I’ll start tracking down the Kindred couriers. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and catch a knowledgeable one. And perhaps I’ll find a chicken that lays golden eggs, as well.”
“Maybe there’s a sort of elemental,” said Caina, “that can transmute living flesh into solid gold.”
Both Theodosia and Marzhod gave her an odd look.
“What?” said Caina. “There’s an elemental spirit of stone. Maybe there’s an elemental spirit of gold, as well.”
“Regardless,” said Theodosia, “we need to prepare for the next celebration. To repay Lord Khosrau’s kindness with the gladiatorial games, Lord Corbould is holding a chariot race. We can assume that the Kindred will try to kill them both there.”
Marzhod nodded. “I’ll try to find a high-ranking Kindred our friendly occultist can terrorize. And perhaps I’ll get lucky and find that chicken with the golden eggs.”
Marzhod left, and Caina and Theodosia headed for the Inn of the Defender.
“What did you think,” said Theodosia, “of the occultist?”
“She’s dangerous,” said Caina, “and powerful. I told you about Nicorus, the outcast magus in Marsis?” Theodosia nodded. “He’s strong, but I think Nadirah is stronger.”
“Then why help us?” said Theodosia. “I assume Marzhod is paying her?”
“Probably,” said Caina, “but there’s more than that. She wanted to meet me because of what I did to the Moroaica.” Theodosia nodded. “And she seems convinced that some sort of sorcerous disaster is going to befall Cyrioch. She can’t go back to Anshan, so she needs to save Cyrioch, or…”
Caina fell silent.
“What is it?” said Theodosia.
“Corvalis,” said Caina, voice low.
They stood on a wide street, carts and pedestrians hurrying back and forth. Caina spotted Corvalis heading at a steady pace towards the Plaza of Majesty. He hadn’t spotted them, or if he had, he hadn’t recognized Caina or Theodosia. He would assume they were just another pair of Sarbian desert men.
“I think,” said Caina, “that I can get some answers.”
Theodosia nodded, and Caina started after Corvalis.
Chapter 14 - Black Shadow, Green Fire
Caina made sure to stay a good distance behind Corvalis. He walked at a steady pace, the stride of a man on business but not in any particular hurry. He glanced around every so often, when he did, Caina made sure to look elsewhere, to walk alongside a cart until Corvalis’s attention passed.
He was following someone, Caina was sure of it.
She maneuvered closer to Corvalis, hoping to catch sight of whoever he was following. He was trailing a wagon pulled by a pair of plodding oxen, three men sitting in the back. Two wore the rough clothes of freeborn laborers, while the third sat with a hooded cloak despite the day’s heat.
The cloaked man turned his head, and Caina caught a glimpse of a dark face with a well-trimmed beard.
Mhadun, the magus the Kindred had hired.
And the other two men, Caina was sure, were Kindred assassins.
So why was Corvalis following the Kindred?
Caina hoped to find out.
The cart rolled into the Plaza of Majesty, the Magisterium’s chapterhouse rising on one side, the pyramidal black temple of the Living Flame on the other. For a moment she thought Mhadun and the other Kindred would make for the chapterhouse’s gates, but instead they turned right, driving down a back street alongside the chapterhouse’s wall. After a moment Caina realized where they were going. Many of the Magisterium’s chapterhouses had a secret entrance, going to a tavern or warehouse controlled by the Magisterium’s agents. The magi used the entrance to come and go unseen.
Mhadun was going to that entrance, and Corvalis was going after him.
Caina picked up her pace.
East of the Magisterium’s chapterhouse stood a maze of small palaces and mansions, home to Cyrioch’s lesser nobility and wealthier merchants. The wagon rumbled along, and Caina saw it turn into a narrow alleyway between two opulent mansions. Corvalis ducked into a doorway, waited a moment, and started after the wagon.
And as he did, Caina saw a shadow move across a nearby rooftop. A man in a hooded cloak, and Caina glimpsed chain mail and a sheathed sword beneath the cloak. The hooded man gazed into the alley and beckoned. Other men rose from concealment upon the roof, and Caina saw a shorter figure in their midst, a man clad in studded leather armor.
It was Sicarion.
Apparently he had hired new thugs. And if he had hated Corvalis before, the fight at the Palace of Splendors would have only inflamed his wrath further. Corvalis was walking into a trap.
And he would not walk out of it alive.
Caina hesitated. Corvalis was not a Ghost, and she had no obligation to defend him. And he had lied to her when he said the Ghosts would be safe if they ignored him. But perhaps he had been mistaken. And if Caina saved his life again, he might share what he knew.
Her mouth hardened into a firm line.
And she would leave no one at the mercy of a man like Sicarion.
Caina waited until Sicarion and his thugs were out of sight, then hurried to one of the small mansions on the opposite side of the alley. Unlike the palaces of the great nobles, the smaller mansions had no courtyards and stood pressed against each other. A corroded copper drainpipe ran down the side of the mansion, and Caina took a running jump, grabbed the pipe, and started pulling herself up. It was a hard climb, but she practiced unarmed forms every day, and her arms and legs were strong.
After a few moments she reached the roof, breathing hard, sweat dripping down her face. The rooftop was deserted, and Caina hurried forward, making sure to keep low and out of sight. The alley ended in a small courtyard shared between four mansions. Mhadun’s wagon and oxen stood abandoned in the center of the courtyard. She spotted Corvalis examining the wagon.
She also saw two men perched on the rooftop, crossbows in hand, taking aim at Corvalis. Was Sicarion going to shoot Corvalis in the back? Sicarion was a capable fighter…but he like to gloat. He liked to watch the sufferings of his victims. A quick, efficient murder did not seem his style.
Sicarion marched into the courtyard, flanked by two of his thugs.
Corvalis whirled, drawing his sword and dagger. Sicarion stopped a dozen paces away and lowered his hood. The pattern of scars on his hairless head had changed since the Caina had last seen him.
“So,” said Corvalis, “you didn’t bleed to death when you fell from the windo
w.”
“I am hard to kill,” said Sicarion. “Do you like my new ear? I can hear better through it.”
“Why are you chasing me?” said Corvalis. “You weren’t looking for me at the Palace of Splendors.”
“No,” said Sicarion. “If you must know, I’m here to execute a wayward disciple of my mistress. She cannot abide disloyalty. Finding you here is merely a pleasant bonus. After I kill you, I can attend to the disciple.”
Caina wondered if Nadirah was Jadriga’s renegade student. The occultist did know a great deal about the Moroaica.
“If you can kill me,” said Corvalis.
Sicarion barked a rusty laugh. “That’s not in doubt. That intrepid Ghost isn’t here to save you this time.”
The crossbowmen on the roof took aim.
“And your precious mistress isn’t here to defend you,” said Corvalis.
“Oh, no worries, my friend,” said Sicarion, a grin crawling over the scarred patchwork over his face. “I don’t need her to settle with you.”
The crossbowmen straightened up…
“Corvalis!” shouted Caina, pointing. “Crossbows! On the roof!”
Corvalis’s pale green eyes flashed towards her, and then to the crossbowmen.
So did Sicarion’s mismatched gaze.
“Kill her!” bellowed Sicarion, pointing with his sword. “Shoot her now!”
The crossbowmen whirled to face Caina, raising their weapons. Sicarion sprang at Corvalis, his sword moving with the speed of a striking serpent. The other two mercenaries followed at heartbeat later, and Corvalis met them with his sword and dagger.
But Caina had more immediate problems.
The crossbowmen squeezed their triggers as Caina flung herself down. The quarrels shot past her, so fast she could not see them. One tugged at the sleeve of her robe, and she felt a burning pain as the razor-edged quarrel sliced her arm.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone Page 14