Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 05 - Ghost in the Stone

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Master magus,” said Caina.

  Mhadun did not look at her. “Be off, woman. I have no business with you.”

  The sorcerous tingling grew stronger.

  “Master magus,” said Caina, voice soft, “the Elder wishes to speak with you.”

  That got his attention.

  The tingling against Caina’s skin vanished, and Mhadun turned towards her, dark eyes narrowed.

  “What did you say?” he said, scowling. “What did you say to me?”

  Caina lifted her chin, letting a mysterious smile play on her lips. “The Elder wishes to speak with you, master magus. Immediately.”

  “The blood flows from the wound,” said Mhadun in formal High Nighmarian.

  “And the dagger pierces the flesh,” said Caina in the same language.

  Below, the chariots thundered past, and Mhadun shot them an irritated glare.

  “This had better be important, woman,” said Mhadun.

  “So impudent,” said Caina. “Will you keep a more respectful tongue in your head when you speak with the Elder? He is wroth with you.”

  “Why?” said Mhadun. “I did everything he asked of me, and…” He scowled and shook his head. “We should not speak of this here. Lead on. Quickly!”

  Caina turned with cool hauteur and led him up the aisle, to one of the ramps leading out of the hippodrome. A brick arch blocked out the sun overhead, filling the ramp with shadow. Corvalis waited in the shadows, a dark shape in the gloom.

  “Elder?” said Mhadun.

  Corvalis stepped into the light.

  “Who the devil are you?” said Mhadun, and this his eyes widened. “You!”

  “Mhadun,” said Corvalis. “It’s been a long time.”

  “The First Magus’s bastard whelp,” said Mhadun, laughing as his fingers traced a spell. “Your father has wanted you dead for a long time. He will reward me richly when I present him with your head upon a platter! I’ll get my own chapter for this, perhaps even the Malarae chapterhouse…”

  Caina reached into her sleeve, drew a throwing knife, and rammed it into Mhadun’s back.

  Or she would have, had it not rebounded from Mhadun’s back in a spray of sparks.

  Mhadun had warded himself against steel weapons.

  The master magus whirled. “Ah? Who’s this, bastard? Your little pet?” He flicked a finger. Invisible force seized Caina and slammed her against the brick wall. “I think I’ll bring her along. The First Magus does so enjoy pretty toys…”

  Corvalis flicked the tip of the ghostsilver dagger across Mhadun’s arm. The curved blade penetrated Mhadun’s wards and the sleeve of his robe with ease, blood darkening the black cloth. Mhadun shrieked in pain, his eyes wide with shock.

  People responded to pain in different ways. Some could focus through it and continue fighting. Others fell apart, unable to react until the pain faded.

  The invisible force holding her to the wall vanished as Mhadun’s concentration collapsed.

  Mhadun, it seemed, was not used to pain.

  Caina ripped a cloth pad from the pouch at her belt. It was damp with an elixir Marzhod’s druggist has brewed up for her, and she slapped the pad over Mhadun’s nose and lips. The master magus twisted away, trying to break free from the pad, but Caina slammed her left fist into his gut. The breath exploded from his lungs, and Mhadun doubled over. Caina pressed the pad against his face, holding it in place with all her strength, and soon Mhadun had no choice but to inhale.

  His eyes rolled back, and he went limp, collapsing in a heap on the grimy floor.

  “Well,” said Corvalis. “That was fun.”

  “You have a peculiar definition of fun,” said Caina, tucking the pad into her belt pouch.

  Two of Marzhod’s Sarbian mercenaries hurried over. With practiced efficiency they bound the magus’s wrists and ankles, gagged him, and shoved a hood over his head. Then they picked him up and hustled for the exits. With luck, the militiamen would assume Marzhod’s mercenaries were settling with someone who had failed to pay a wager.

  “Best we get gone,” said Corvalis. “When Ranarius and the Kindred figure out that Mhadun has disappeared, they’re going to be furious.”

  “Agreed,” said Caina. “We’ll take him to Nadirah’s house. She’ll know how to keep him contained…and how to make him talk.”

  A cheer went up from the crowds, and Caina glanced over her shoulder.

  “Blue’s winning,” she said.

  “Ah,” said Corvalis. “Just as well I didn’t place a wager, then.”

  Chapter 17 – Crawling Shadows

  Night had fallen by the time Theodosia and Marzhod reached Nadirah’s parlor.

  Caina again wore the robes and weapons of a Sarbian mercenary. Corvalis had returned to his usual chain mail and cloak, his weapons at his belt. He seemed ill at ease, his hand twitching toward his sword hilt again and again.

  She could not blame him.

  Mhadun sat slumped on a wooden chair in the center of the room, chin resting upon his chest. Ropes bound his legs and arms to the chair, a gag sealed his mouth, and a blindfold covered his eyes. Nadirah had drawn intricate circles and symbols in chalk around him, and candles burned upon certain glyphs. She claimed that the chalk circles were part of a warding spell that would keep the master magus’s powers at bay.

  Nadirah walked in a slow, constant circle around Mhadun, humming to herself, her heels clicking against the floor. She wore an elaborate gown, red with intricate patterns in yellow upon the sleeve and bodice. Jewels glittered on her fingers and at her throat, and a delicate net of silver chains covered her hair. She looked every inch the daughter of Anshani nobility.

  She walked in a circle around Mhadun…and her shadow remained motionless upon him, twisting around him like the shadow of a sundial.

  “Gods and devils, but that’s uncanny,” muttered Corvalis.

  “I can hear you,” said Nadirah.

  “I know that,” said Corvalis.

  “Do you fear the shadows so much, assassin?” murmured Nadirah, her black eyes falling upon him. She looked bewitching and beautiful.

  But Corvalis’s grim expression did not change, and he met her gaze without expression. “The shadows are a tool to me, like any other. But I take caution against what might wait in the shadows. Such as a master magus who will try to kill us all as soon as he wakes up.”

  “A prudent man,” said Nadirah. “So rare. But you needn’t fear, assassin. My power is more than sufficient to keep this fool’s strength at bay.”

  “As you say,” said Corvalis, though he kept his hand on his sword hilt and his eyes on Mhadun.

  “The shadows are tangled,” murmured Nadirah, still circling the magus. “So many potential futures lie before us, but all of them point to one fate. The destruction of Cyrica Urbana, the annihilation of this ancient city. Cyrioch is old, so old, and has left a deep shadow upon the netherworld. Yet both this city and its shadow will be swept away in the twinkling of an eye. How the spirits whisper! Even they are fearful of what is coming.”

  “Do all occultists,” said Caina, “have such a flair for the theatrical?”

  To her surprise, Nadirah grinned, and for a moment the expression made her look less ominous. “You are astute, dark one. Often the occultists of Anshan employ trickery, to keep the ignorant rabble in awe of their abilities.” She shivered. “But I could no more deceive one of your power than the darkness could keep sunlight at bay.”

  “Your power?” said Corvalis. “Don’t tell me you’re a sorceress as well?” He smirked. “Especially after all your talk about the evil of sorcery.”

  “No,” said Caina. She did not want to discuss the Moroaica with Corvalis. “What do you mean, Nadirah?”

  “Your shadows are entangled, dark one, yours and the assassin’s,” said Nadirah, looking from Caina to Corvalis and back again. “You seek different things. You, to save Cyrioch and the Empire.” Her gaze shifted to Corvalis. “And you…the shadows whisper that yo
u seek to save a loved one from imprisonment.” Her eyes darkened, like cups filling with black wine. “And yet you both seek the same answer, though you know it not.”

  “If I cross your palm with silver,” said Corvalis, “will you tell my fortune?” He glared at Caina. “Are we done wasting our time with her? Wake Mhadun up, and I’ll break his fingers until he tells you what you want to know.”

  Nadirah’s maid entered the room and bowed. “Mistress. Your other guests have arrived.”

  “Send them in,” said Nadirah.

  The maid opened the door, and Theodosia and Marzhod entered at last. Marzhod wore his usual ragged finery, while Theodosia had again disguised herself as a Sarbian mercenary.

  “I must say, madam,” said Corvalis. “You were much more attractive in a proper dress.”

  Theodosia laughed. “That, sir, is how you deliver a compliment.”

  But her laugh faded as she saw Nadirah walking around Mhadun, her shadow remaining motionless upon him.

  “You’re a hard man to find,” said Marzhod, glaring at Corvalis. “Quite a few of my best men turned to statues trying to find of you.”

  “Then you should have minded your own business,” said Corvalis. “I suppose that’s difficult for a Ghost to manage. But Ranarius turned your men to stone, and I suggest you take out your revenge upon him.”

  “A man after my own heart,” said Marzhod.

  “Assuming,” said Corvalis, “that your occultist can make Mhadun talk.”

  Marzhod offered a thin smile. “You’ll see what she can do, soon enough.” He offered a shallow bow in Nadirah’s direction. “My lady. Are you ready to begin?”

  “Ah, Marzhod,” murmured Nadirah. “Always so polite. But nothing trains a man’s tongue in courtesy like fear.”

  She faced Mhadun and clapped her hands.

  Her rippling shadow went motionless, and a cool breeze blew through the parlor, rustling the books and scrolls upon the shelves and making the candle flames dance. Her shadow seemed to pierce Mhadun like a black spike.

  “Wake up, Mhadun,” crooned Nadirah, “master magus of the Imperial Magisterium.”

  Caina felt the cold tingle of Nadirah’s sorcery, and Mhadun shifted in his chair. His head rose, and Caina saw his eyes dart back and forth behind his blindfold, his jaw working against the gag. She felt another tingle as Mhadun summoned his arcane powers. Without his hands and his tongue, he could not work a spell, but he could sense the presence of sorcery.

  The candles’ flames flickered, the white lines of chalk darkening with shadow, and the tingle of Mhadun’s power vanished.

  Nadirah’s shadow grew darker.

  “Do forgive my impertinence,” said Corvalis, “but that gag will make it difficult for him to answer questions.”

  Nadirah crooked a finger, and unseen force yanked the gag from Mhadun’s lips. The magus coughed, spat upon the floor, and began to speak.

  “I know that voice,” he rasped. “Corvalis Aberon, the First Magus’s renegade little bastard. Is the blue-eyed whore still with you? I know you had accomplices. You couldn’t have pulled this off alone.” He spat again. “Your life is forfeit, Corvalis, but your accomplices can live. Do you know what the Magisterium does to those who dare to lift their hands against a magus? Shall I tell you about the torture chambers in the dungeons below the Motherhouse of Artifel? Or the spells that make a man know nothing but agony for years?”

  “Poetic words,” said Corvalis, “but empty. Your preceptor doesn’t even like you, Mhadun. We did him a favor by taking you off his hands. I’m surprised he doesn’t pay us a bounty.”

  Mhadun scowled. “Idiot boy. I am a master magus of the Imperial Magisterium…”

  “Who has betrayed the Magisterium by taking the coin of another,” said Corvalis. “You sold out the Magisterium to join the Kindred. I doubt Ranarius will lift a finger to save you.”

  Mhadun laughed. “Then you know you are in twice as much danger, fool. I could tell you every torture the First Magus has ever ordered, and he would still seem like a meek lamb compared to the Kindred.”

  “You were sent to assassinate Khosrau and Corbould, and you failed,” said Corvalis. “I know firsthand the Kindred do not smile upon failure…”

  “Silence,” said Mhadun. “Are your accomplices within earshot? I hope they are, because I am giving them one chance to save their lives.” His voice rose. “Kill Corvalis and let me go, and I give you my word that I will overlook this…indiscretion. This is your only chance. Even if you kill me, the Kindred and the Magisterium will still find you.” He laughed. “The Magisterium may even pay the Kindred to hunt you down. I assume you had a renegade sorcerer put this ward around me? You had better release the ward. The Magisterium will turn a blind eye to renegade sorcerers if they behave…but if you dare to assault a magus, your fate will be dire indeed.”

  Nadirah laughed. “I fear many things, Mhadun of the Kindred, but you are not one of them.”

  “A woman?” Mhadun’s laughter redoubled. “Some peasant midwife with a few tricks, no doubt? You’ll find that imprisoning a master magus is more challenging than whelping calves from the village cow.”

  “Indeed?” said Nadirah, her voice full of amusement. “If I am a village midwife, then you should have no trouble escaping from my wards. Yet here you sit.” Her voice rose, full of power and authority. “And I am no mere dabbler. I studied at the feet of Yaramzod the Black, the greatest occultist ever to stride the streets of holy Anshan.”

  “An Anshani occultist?” said Mhadun. “You think to scare me with an Anshani shadow-spinner? Fools! There are no female occultists. Perhaps you should have done some research before embarking upon this ridiculous charade.”

  “Enough,” barked Marzhod. He took care to keep his voice disguised. “Begin.”

  Nadirah whispered a spell, her fingers weaving elaborate designs. Her shadow rippled again, fluttering over Mhadun like a banner caught in high wind.

  And then Mhadun’s shadow, too, began to ripple.

  “More trickery?” said Mhadun. “I assume you opened the door to generate that chill? Those half-witted opera singers of Khosrau’s can do better tricks.” Theodosia sniffed in disdain. “If you think to scare me with this mummery, then…”

  “He lies.”

  The voice was a snarling, hissing rasp, the voice of a creature that lurked in darkness and gnawed upon carrion. Caina yanked her ghostsilver dagger from its sheath, expecting some beast from nightmare to spring upon her…

  After a moment, she realized the voice came from the shadows upon the floor.

  From Mhadun’s shadow.

  “He lies,” said the ghastly voice. “Terror fills his heart. He knows that his preceptor Ranarius despises him and that his masters in the Kindred regard him only as a useful tool. They will take vengeance upon you, of course, for daring to harm what belongs to them, but they will not lift a finger to save him.”

  “Who are you?” snarled Mhadun. For the first time a tremor entered his voice. “Speak!”

  “I am you,” said the shadow. “I am the shadow you cast in the netherworld, freed to speak by the arts of Nadirah daughter of Arsakan.” Nadirah’s teeth clicked in annoyance. She wouldn’t want Mhadun to hear her name, Caina realized. Which meant Nadirah did not have full control over whatever horror from the netherworld now inhabited Mhadun’s shadow.

  That was a disturbing thought.

  “Silence!” shouted Mhadun, sweat beading on his forehead. “I command you not to speak.”

  “You have no power over me,” said the shadow, “not here. How I yearn to hear you scream.”

  “But you are bound to my will, shadow,” said Nadirah, raising her hands.

  Caina felt the surge of sorcery.

  “I am,” said the shadow, loathing in its icy voice.

  “And you are bound to answer my questions truthfully,” said Nadirah.

  “So I am,” said the shadow. “And the truth you shall have from me.” Caina heard
the dark amusement in that malicious voice. “Especially if those truths shall lead to your doom.”

  “The questions,” said Marzhod, watching both Mhadun and the shadows with a wary eye. “Ask it the questions we discussed earlier.”

  “The former slave,” said the shadow. “Chains of steel can rust, but chains in the mind shall never be broken.”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Marzhod. “I’ve seen spirits summoned before. Riddles and dark memories and ominous prophecies. Why don’t you…”

  “Do not,” said Nadirah, her dark eyes falling him, “engage with the shadow.”

  Marzhod fell silent.

  “Now,” said Nadirah, returning her attention to Mhadun, “the Kindred have been hired to kill both Lord Corbould Maraeus and Lord Khosrau Asurius. Is this true?”

  “It is,” said the shadow.

  “Who hired them?” said Nadirah.

  “I don’t know,” said Mhadun.

  “He speaks the truth,” said the shadow. “Though if you were to release the binding upon me, I could make him tell you more. I could make him scream it to you.”

  “No!” said Mhadun, voice hoarse. “I don’t know, I swear it.”

  “Then who does know?” said Nadirah.

  “The Elder,” said Mhadun. “The Kindred Elder of Cyrioch knows. Our clients contract with him, and he assigns the assassins to the target. He is the only one who knows who hired us to kill the nobles. Not me. Not me!”

  “Shadow,” said Nadirah. “Does he speak the truth?”

  “He does,” whispered the shadow, “for fear of his own life.”

  “The next question,” said Marzhod.

  “The Haven of the Kindred,” said Nadirah. “Where is it?”

  “In the shadow of the fire,” said the shadow, “beneath the shuffling feet of worshipers come to pray to the flames.”

  “Where is it, Mhadun?” said Nadirah.

  “Beneath the Temple of the Living Flame,” said Mhadun.

  “What?” said Marzhod. “I’ve been looking for the Kindred Haven for years! Are you telling me that it’s hidden under the Temple?”