Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge

by Jonathan Moeller

  “What does that do?” said Caina. “Light fires?”

  “Among other things,” said Talekhris. “It grants control over the primal elements, and it can awaken a greater elemental from its hibernation.”

  Caina blinked. “This thing can actually awaken a hibernating elemental?”

  “In an instant,” said Talekhris, “though it would not be under the command of the Staff’s wielder.”

  “Gods,” said Caina, remembering how long it had taken Ranarius to find a spell capable of awakening a greater elemental. “You could destroy the world with that staff. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Talekhris.

  “The Scholae,” said Caina. “The Masked Ones claim to pursue knowledge for its own sake. But first you made that staff, and then the glypharmor! Do you seek for ways to destroy the world simply for your own amusement?”

  Talekhris looked away. “Once I would have dismissed you as ignorant. Now…now I do not know.” He took a deep breath. “But we are not here to discuss the failings of the Scholae.”

  “No, we’re not,” said Caina. “And I know why you brought me here.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You want to know,” said Caina, “if I am the Moroaica or not.”

  He stared at her in silence for a moment, his fingers tight around the metallic rod. Caina had seen him use it in Cyrioch, but she suspected Talekhris had only employed a small portion of its powers.

  “Are you?” said Talekhris.

  “You tell me,” said Caina.

  He scowled. “This is not a game.”

  “It is,” said Caina. “Your own Speaker is playing a game right now, even if he doesn’t realize it. Gathering together the most powerful and ambitious men in the world and throwing that weapon into their midst? There will be fighting before this is over. You might as well drop a dozen gladiators into a pit and offer to give the last one standing his freedom.”

  “You surprise me,” said Talekhris. “You are neither the weeping child I saw in the hall nor the happy woman I saw walking with her lover in Cyrica Urbana. Who is truly beneath those masks, I wonder?”

  “A Masked One accusing another of wearing a mask?” said Caina. She did not like his implication that she had been wearing a mask with Corvalis. “How poetical. But we did not come here for a debate, did we? Tell me why you think I am the Moroaica, and why you tried to kill me for it.”

  “The mask of a Sage,” said Talekhris, “grants many powers. One of them is the ability to see into the shadows of the netherworld.”

  “As the Anshani occultists do,” said Caina.

  “They possess the second sight,” said Talekhris, “but the mask bestows it to a far greater degree. With it, I beheld the Moroaica’s power within you.” He frowned. “And yet…and yet her aura has not subsumed yours, as it did with the others.”

  “Others?” said Caina.

  “I have fought the Moroaica in nine of her incarnations,” said Talekhris, “and slain her five times. At least those I can remember.” He shook his head. “Every time, she had dominated her host. Yet…I see two souls within you. I do not understand.”

  Neither did Caina. Talekhris claimed to have fought Jadriga nine times. She knew the Masked Ones lived for centuries, yet if Caina’s dream had been accurate, Jadriga had been born in Maat. And Maat had been destroyed over two thousand years ago.

  Just how old was Talekhris?

  “Nor do I understand,” said Caina, “why you are standing here now. I saw a sword go through your heart, and I know your corpse was dumped into the Cyrican Sea.”

  “I was,” said Talekhris. “It was most inconvenient.”

  “So how are you still alive?” said Caina.

  “A bargain, then,” said Talekhris. The rod rested in loose fingers at his side, like a master swordsman readying his weapon for a strike. “You tell me if you are truly the Moroaica…and I shall tell you how I survived.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. “I slew the Moroaica in Marsis, and her spirit entered my body. But she is unable to control me. I was…scarred by sorcery when I was a child. Because of that damage, she occupies my body, but she cannot control me.”

  “Truly?” said Talekhris. “But…yes, I see. That makes a great deal of sense. Yes.” He frowned in chagrin. “So if I had slain you in Cyrica Urbana…”

  “Then you would have freed the Moroaica to claim another host,” said Caina. “You didn’t think that through, did you?”

  “Apparently not,” said Talekhris.

  “Now,” said Caina. “You will tell me. Why are you still alive?”

  “The Moroaica,” said Talekhris.

  “You are one of her disciples?” said Caina, wondering if Talekhris was a creature like Sicarion. Perhaps Talekhris had helped himself to a new heart from a hapless victim.

  “In fact,” said Talekhris, “she was mine.”

  “You taught her?” said Caina.

  “It was,” the lines of his face tightened in a frown, “nine hundred years ago. Or perhaps eight. I cannot recall. She claimed to be one of the Szaldic solmonari, come to study from the Sages of the Scholae. I took her as a Seeker. But soon I realized her knowledge far exceeded my own, and she possessed a profound mastery of ancient Maat’s necromantic sciences.” He shook his head. “But she fooled me long enough to learn many of the Scholae’s secrets. Eventually I discovered her deception and we fought. I thought I had driven her off…but she had taken all the knowledge she needed.”

  “Nine hundred years ago?” said Caina. “Can the Sages truly live so long?”

  “We cannot,” said Talekhris. “Twenty years after she fled, I found the Moroaica in Anshan, and slew her in a duel. But she returned soon after in a new body. Again I hunted her down and slew her…and again she returned in a new body. I realized she would outlive me by moving from body to body, and would do terrible harm with the knowledge she had stolen from the Scholae.”

  “So you ensured,” said Caina, “that you would live as long as she did.”

  She wondered if Talekhris was a necromancer, and her hands wanted to reach for her throwing knives.

  He shook his head. “You think me a necromancer? I would not use her own methods to pursue her. But there was another way. An artifact of elemental power, tied to the earth itself. When I am slain, it forces my spirit back into my flesh…and I live again.”

  “Immortality, then,” said Caina.

  “Of a sort,” said Talekhris.

  “But there is a price,” said Caina, “isn’t there?”

  “What do you mean?” said Talekhris.

  “You might be…returned to your body again and again,” said Caina, “but your injuries are not always healed.” She pointed at his right leg. “Else I wouldn’t have been able to defeat a Sage of the Scholae by throwing a frying pan at him.”

  “A frying pan?” said Talekhris.

  “And I would wager it has damaged your memory, too,” said Caina. “You met the Moroaica eight or nine hundred years ago? I think you would remember that. I suspect with every death you lose a little more of your memory.”

  “Why do you think that?” said Talekhris.

  “Because,” said Caina. “You said I drove a sword through your heart. I didn’t. I only distracted you by hitting your bad leg with a frying pan. I think you would remember that.”

  Talekhris said nothing for a moment, and Caina stared at him.

  “You,” said Talekhris, “are rather clever for a merchant’s daughter.”

  “I think you have figured out what I really am by now,” said Caina.

  “A Ghost,” said Talekhris. “Sometimes your order has aided me, throughout the centuries, though I doubt you remember.” He sighed. “And I do not remember. You are correct about the memory loss. The mortal mind…the mortal mind was not designed to handle the strain of such a long life. I say I have slain the Moroaica five times, but those are only the times I remember. It could be more. I have tried keep
ing records…but sometimes she finds and destroys them.” His voice grew quiet. “I was married, long ago. Yet I cannot remember my wife’s name. I cannot even remember her face, Ghost.”

  “How many times have you died?” said Caina.

  “More than I can remember,” said Talekhris. “The Moroaica has slain me. Her disciples have slain me at her bidding.” He shook his head. “Her pet assassin has slain me, twice, merely for the amusement of it.”

  “Assassin?” said Caina. “You mean Sicarion? Short man covered in scars?”

  “Is that what he calls himself now?” said Talekhris. “Yes. He was once an initiate of the Magisterium during the Fourth Empire. The Magisterium expelled him because he enjoyed killing too much even by the standards of the Fourth Empire. The Moroaica took him as a disciple, and he has killed at her bidding ever since.”

  “Not any more,” said Caina. “He’s dead. Ranarius killed him in Cyrioch.”

  “Good,” said Talekhris. “The Moroaica has caused great harm over the centuries. Her disciples, however, lack her intelligence and self-control, and are often worse.”

  “Do you have a plan for defeating her?” said Caina. “Some way to finally stop her?”

  “Not yet,” said Talekhris. “I have tried to break the necromantic spells upon her spirit. I have tried to imprison her spirit, to keep it from inhabiting yet another body. Time and time again I have failed. I have wandered long in the horrid ruins of ancient Maat, seeking the secrets of their necromancy. For I do not understand how she moves from flesh to flesh, and until I do, I cannot stop her.”

  “So you’re not going to kill me?” said Caina.

  “Attacking you was a mistake,” said Talekhris, “and I apologize for it. Indeed, I wish you long life. How old are you? Twenty-one?” Caina nodded. “Then I pray you live to one hundred and twenty-one, Anna Callenius. As long as you live, I have a respite. I can seek some way of defeating the Moroaica without fear that she is doing harm elsewhere.”

  Caina nodded. Here was the lever she could use to gain Talekhris’s aid.

  She hoped.

  “You could help me,” said Caina, “to live a long life.”

  “How?” said Talekhris. “By keeping you a prisoner at the Tower of Study? The Scholae would not approve.”

  “Do you think,” said Caina, “that the Scholae approves of the glypharmor? Of Zalandris offering it for sale?”

  “Opinion among the Sages,” said Talekhris, “is…divided.”

  “And what about you?” said Caina. “Do you approve?”

  Talekhris looked away, gazing at the frost crackling around the Staff of the Elements.

  “No,” he said. “I know what Zalandris thinks. He believes the glypharmor is a weapon so powerful that men will abandon war in fear of it. In this, I believe, he is a fool. He has not left Catekharon for three hundred years, and has forgotten the world outside the walls.”

  “But you have not,” said Caina.

  “No,” said Talekhris. “I have traveled from the barbarian lands north of the Empire to the dusty ruins of Maat. Nations and kings come and go, but the hearts of men do not change.” He tapped his chest. “In the heart of every man waits a lust for power. Like a sac of poison. The temptation of too much power ruptures the sac and floods the mind and soul with corruption…and the glypharmor is more power than any one man should possess.”

  “Then help me to stop it,” said Caina.

  “To claim the armor for your Emperor?” said Talekhris. “Do you believe he was the wisdom to wield such might?”

  “No man has the wisdom to wield such might,” said Caina. “I would see the glypharmor destroyed and the knowledge of its creation lost.”

  “Truly?” said Talekhris. “I am surprised. Most Ghosts would jump at the chance to seize power for their Emperor.”

  “I know better,” said Caina. “You have been honest with me, so I shall be honest with you. I hate sorcery. It is a vile, abominable thing, and it brings nothing but suffering and death. If I could kill every last sorcerer in the world, every magus, every occultist, I would do it.”

  Belatedly she thought of Claudia.

  “Such candor is rare,” said Talekhris. “But it is unseemly for one Sage to oppose another.”

  “Even if,” said Caina, “necromancy was used to create the glypharmor?”

  Talekhris’s blue eyes narrowed.

  “Impossible,” said Talekhris. “I felt no aura of necromancy around the armor, nor did I see it through my mask. Zalandris would never countenance such a thing. The Scholae has few rules, but it enforces them zealously. Necromancy is strictly banned.”

  “The Moroaica,” said Caina, “told me there is necromancy in the glypharmor. That’s why I collapsed in the Hall of Assembly. Her power reacted to the necromantic force within the armor.”

  Talekhris frowned. “She speaks to you?”

  “Sometimes, in my dreams,” said Caina, wondering if it had been a mistake to share that.

  “If Mihaela used necromancy to create the glypharmor,” said Talekhris, “the Moroaica would recognize it.” He shook his head, rolling the metallic rod in his fingers. “I would not put it past Mihaela to do such a thing. She is…determined.”

  “The same could be said of you,” said Caina, “given that you have chased the Moroaica across the centuries.”

  “True,” said Talekhris. “But Mihaela, I think, is the mind behind the glypharmor. She used Zalandris’s lessons to create it…but she created it, not him. And she convinced him to offer it for sale to the world.”

  “It seems strange for a woman like Mihaela,” said Caina, “to create such a weapon in order to promote peace and harmony among nations. She must have some other motive.”

  “Precisely,” said Talekhris. “Your logic rings true. If you can find proof that necromancy was used in the creation of the glypharmor, then I will help you to destroy it.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina. “One more question.”

  Talekhris nodded.

  “You can see the Moroaica’s spirit within me,” said Caina. “Why can’t the other Masked Ones?”

  “Because I have altered the spells upon my mask to seek her,” said Talekhris. “And because I am a curiosity among the Sages. They think me a doddering madman, forever pursuing a phantasm that does not exist. Zalandris understands my mission, but few others do.” He tapped a finger against the side of his rod. “But be wary. If any of the Sages learn that the Moroaica inhabits your flesh, they may well overreact and kill you on the spot.”

  Caina nodded, chilled, and went to find Halfdan and the others. Questions and fears chased each other through her mind. But one question burned at the forefront of her thoughts.

  Jadriga had recognized the necromancy Mihaela had used to create the glypharmor.

  Did that mean Mihaela was another disciple of the Moroaica?

  Chapter 12 - The First Magus

  “You let her go off alone?” said Corvalis, keeping the anger out of his tone.

  He stood with Basil and Claudia in the corner of the Hall of Assembly, keeping a wary eye on the lords and sorcerers. The furor from Caina’s collapse had died down. The Redhelms had reopened the doors to the Hall of Assembly, and the ambassadors started heading for their quarters.

  Corvalis wanted to slip away with Claudia before their father saw them.

  But as long as Caina remained with Talekhris, they could not.

  Corvalis had rammed his sword through Talekhris’s heart. How was the man even still alive? Did that mean the Masked One was a necromancer?

  And would he try to kill Caina?

  “Anna,” said Basil, voice low, “can take care of herself.”

  “That Masked One tried to kill her in Cyrioch,” said Corvalis. “Perhaps this is his chance to do it properly.”

  “Perhaps,” said Basil, “but if he wanted to kill her, there would be better ways to accomplish it than by walking off with her in front of a crowd of witnesses. No, from what you said,
he was…intrigued by Anna. This is his chance to learn more about her. And she, in turn, has the opportunity to learn more about him. Why he tried to kill her, for one. And perhaps she can glean some useful information about the glypharmor.”

  Corvalis gave a reluctant nod. He had killed men with swords, with daggers, with his bare hands. Yet he had never seen anything like the glypharmor. One man with a suit of glypharmor could destroy an army with ease. If the glypharmor left Catekharon, it would change the world, and not for the better.

  Claudia shook her head. “The Masked One is probably more in danger from her than the other way around. Her hatred of sorcerers is irrational.”

  “No, it’s quite rational,” said Basil.

  “I hardly think so,” said Claudia. “Her hatred of sorcery clouds every decision. It…”

  “The hatred would only be irrational if she didn’t have a reason for it,” said Basil. “She has a very good reason for it. So her hatred is perfectly rational.”

  “Such an eloquent syllogism,” said Claudia. “Hopefully it will not occur to Anna, lest she cuts Talekhris’s throat.”

  “He won’t try to kill her,” said Basil. “She won’t try to kill him, either. Information is sometimes more valuable than a life. She will learn some things that we need to know…and then we shall decide how to act.”

  “But suppose she cannot control herself,” said Claudia. “Suppose…”

  “She will,” said Corvalis. “I have seen her masquerade as a caravan guard, a Sarbian mercenary, an opera singer’s maid, and a merchant’s daughter. Every time the impersonation was perfect. I would not have known it was her.”

  Yet that thought made him uneasy. He had seen how easily she moved from one persona to another. Did she regard him as a passing amusement? Or, perhaps, as a useful tool? He remembered a slave of the Kindred who he thought had loved him, but…

  No. He could not think like that.

  “She is a good actress,” said Claudia. “What of it? That means…”

  “That means,” said Corvalis, “she has the self-control to keep herself in check. She’ll…”