Blade of the Ghosts

by Jonathan Moeller

  “No,” said Caina. “Upon the roof.” He blinked at that. “We shall lie together under the naked sky, as you do on the steppes.”

  “Perhaps you have the soul of a true Kagari woman after all,” said Hulagon. He hastened up the creaking stairs, Caina following him and loosening the strings of the pouch at her belt. Hulagon pushed aside a rotting wooden trapdoor and climbed onto the apartment building’s flat roof of clay tiles, the smell of smoke rising from the bonfires in the inner courtyard below.

  “A fine view,” said Caina as she climbed onto the roof, reaching into the pouch, her fingers closing around something wet and dripping.

  “A finer view shall be you unclad,” said Hulagon, undoing his sword belt. “Take off your…”

  Caina stepped forward, lifted the cloth pad from the pouch, and slapped it over Hulagon’s mouth and nose. His eyes widened and he jerked back, but Caina coiled her free arm around his back, holding herself in place against him. Hulagon took a sharp breath, and the fumes from the potion soaking the pad filled his nostrils. He staggered, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and Caina eased him down as he collapsed.

  No reason to kill him. Even if his breath had been foul.

  She took a moment to finish undoing his belt, using it to tie his wrists together behind his back. Then she cut strips of cloth from his trousers and bound the cloth pad to his mouth, keeping the fumes rising into his nose. It wouldn’t kill him, though it would keep him unconscious all night, and he would wake up with one hell of a headache.

  It also drowned out the garlic smell of his breath. Caina wished she could have some tea to wash the taste out of her mouth, but there would be time for that later.

  She straightened up, leaving Hulagon behind, and circled around the outer edge of the roof, making sure to remain unobserved from the street. Caina hoped that Jurchan hadn’t thought to brick up the windows to his treasure room. She could swing down to the door overlooking the inner courtyard, but there were over a hundred people attending the noyan's feast.

  People never looked up…but Caina did not want to assume that a hundred people would not look up at an inconvenient time.

  She reached the section of the roof behind Jurchan’s throne and eased to the edge, looking down at the street. It was deserted, and it was also a long way down. Below her were a row of windows, all of them closed behind shutters.

  But none of them had been bricked up.

  Caina shrugged out of her cloak, tearing at the outer hem. A slender rope had been hidden within the garment, and she pulled it out. She shrugged back into the cloak, tied the rope to the gutter, tested the strength, and swung over the edge.

  The wind tugged at her skirts, and she bounced off the wall, her boots scraping for purchase against the weathered brick. Caina had never tried climbing down a wall while wearing a dress and high-heeled boots, and found that she did not care for the experience. Yet all her hours of practice in the unarmed forms of combat paid off, and she had strength enough to keep her grip on the rope.

  She examined the shutters. They were bolted from within, but not locked, likely because no one would be crazy enough to break into a fifth-floor window. Caina slipped one of the daggers from her boot, jammed it into the shutters, and worked it back and forth until the bolt popped. The shutters swung open, and Caina pulled herself over the sill and into the room beyond.

  It was dark, but the silvery gloom of the foggy night spilled through the window. It was utterly silent, and Caina remained motionless as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was a large room, and heavy shelves lined the walls, three rows of tables standing between the window and the door to the inner courtyard. Caina saw items upon the tables - bundles of fur, sheathed daggers, jewelry, and bars of precious metals. Given the relative squalor of his surroundings, Jurchan was wealthier than she expected. He did need to support all his followers, and perhaps he planned to raise an army and return to the Kagari steppes, to take vengeance for whatever had driven him from his homeland.

  A familiar tingle of sorcery washed over her, and Caina turned her head. A glass sphere sat upon an iron stand. She lifted the glass sphere, and it shone with a gentle glow as the spells the initiates of the Magisterium had placed upon it activated. Caina swept the sphere back and forth, examining the various valuable objects stacked upon the tables.

  The map caught her eye.

  It was obviously old, drawn and labeled in an archaic style. As Aetius had said, it was a map of the early First Empire, the lands that Nicokator had conquered during his lifetime. Caina recognized the script used by the ancient Nighmarians, and while she could pick out a word here and there, she could not read it. Yet most of the labels seemed to be in numbers, and the numerals had not changed over the centuries.

  Numbers. Was that why Armus had carried that list of numbers in his coat pocket? Caina lifted the sphere, hoping to get a better view of the map…

  The sphere’s glow sputtered.

  Caina frowned at the sphere, the glass cool against her fingers. The spells upon those spheres lasted for years, and the Magisterium made a great deal of money manufacturing and selling them by the thousands. Sometimes the Magisterium also altered the spells to spy upon their enemies or to use them as tools of assassination, but Caina could usually sense the altered spells upon such a sphere.

  Usually.

  She stepped back, and the sphere’s glow steadied. Caina considered that for a moment, and took a long step forward.

  The glow began to sputter again, and Caina felt a new sorcerous aura wash over her, so strong that the scar below her navel seemed to clench as a wave of pins and needles rolled up and down her limbs. She had never sensed a sorcerous aura quite like this one. It was sharp and powerful, so powerful it almost hurt to be near it, and yet it felt…old and rigid, very old. It was almost like a mind-controlling spell of some kind, and yet there were other spells wrapped within it that Caina could not identify.

  She took another step forward, the sphere flickering, and saw the sheathed sword lying upon the table.

  Most noblemen and the soldiers of the Imperial Legion carried broadswords, long, heavy swords with thick blades, but this sword was a longsword of archaic design, the sort of thing an ancient Nighmarian lord might have carried as he rode to battle with his retainers. Crumbling, dry leather wrapped the sword’s hilt, and the pommel and the crossguard had been worked with silver, though the silver had turned black with age. The pommel had been adorned with the stylized image of an eagle’s head.

  To this day, the banner of the Emperors of Nighmar was a golden eagle upon a purple banner.

  The sheathed sword radiated powerful sorcery.

  This had to be the Sword of Nicokator. Caina wondered if Armus had ever realized what a powerful weapon he had found. Certainly Taldrane must have. A master magus would have sensed the power of the sword at once. Jurchan had also realized the Sword’s power. He had most likely murdered Armus and brought the weapon here.

  Caina reached for the Sword’s hilt, intending to take it with her when she departed.

  But she hesitated, the power of the blade’s aura washing over her hand as her fingers hovered a few inches over the hilt.

  Caina was not sure that the Sword was safe to touch. But it had to be safe to carry. Armus had carried it out of the ruin where it had been hidden, and Jurchan and his warriors had taken it here. Perhaps if Caina only touched the Sword by its scabbard, she could take it with her when she fled the building.

  Her mind made up, she started grip the scabbard, her fingers seeming to vibrate with the power of the arcane aura.

  And she did, something exploded in the courtyard.

  Caina jerked her hand back, fearing that she had triggered some kind of trap. Yet nothing moved in the treasure room. Through the closed door she heard another explosion, followed by screams and the clang of metal upon metal. Caina whispered a curse, set down the glass globe, and hurried to the door. She undid the locks and eased the door open a crack, peer
ing into the inner courtyard.

  A battle was underway, and the Kagari warriors were losing.

  The Kagari fell back towards the throne and the steps to the treasure room while the guests fled in all directions. Black-armored warriors carrying swords and shields stormed into the courtyard, black cloaks streaming from their shoulders. Their cuirasses had been marked with the symbol of a human eye resting upon the pages of an open book. It was the symbol of the Magisterial Guards, the bodyguards and soldiers of the Imperial Magisterium.

  Black-robed magi walked behind the Guards, and Caina saw Taldrane at their head, wearing the black armor of a battle magus and the purple-trimmed black cloak of a master magus. In his right hand he carried an enormous mace that had to weigh at least eighty pounds, but his spell-enhanced strength let him carry the huge weapon with ease.

  One of the magi cast a spell, and a blast of invisible force slammed into the retreating Kagari warriors, sending them sprawling to the ground. The Magisterial Guards seized their moment of weakness and attacked, cutting down the stunned warriors, and Jurchan and his retainers fell back towards the stairs.

  Taldrane and the Magisterial Guards were winning the fight…which meant that Jurchan and his surviving warriors would retreat to the treasure room.

  Caina had only seconds to act. Already she heard the thumping of boots upon the wooden stairs.

  She closed the door and locked it, raced across the room, and returned the glass sphere to its stand. For a moment she considered taking the Sword and the map and escaping out the window, but discarded the idea. If Jurchan and his warriors were quick enough on their feet, they would catch her. Or they would cut the rope and send her plummeting to her death. That left Caina with only one option.

  She closed the window and barred it, and hurried to the wall. Several rolled Anshani carpets had been stuffed there, and Caina pulled one out, climbed under the shelf, and drew the rolled carpet after her. The smell of dust was near-overpowering, and the space beneath the shelf was cramped. Yet it ought to conceal her, and she could see the door and the treasure room through the narrow gap between the carpet and the shelf. Since the magi and the Kagari would be focused upon each other and the Sword, they ought to overlook her.

  Unless the magi searched the room. Then Caina would be in trouble.

  The door banged open, and Jurchan stumbled inside, bleeding from a cut upon his forehead. A half-dozen Kagari warriors hastened after him, swords in hand. The stairs continued thumping as the Magisterial Guards sprinted after their opponents.

  “Noyan!” said one of the warriors, followed by a question in the Kagari tongue. Jurchan snarled out an answer in the same language, and the warriors arrayed themselves before the door, swords ready. Likely they hoped to use the door as a bottleneck, holding off the Magisterial Guards until the fighting drew the attention of the civic militia or the Imperial Guard.

  It was a good plan, but it overlooked the arcane powers of the magi.

  The handsome magus Caina had seen earlier appeared in the doorway, hand extended, gray light shimmering in front of his fingers. The Kagari loosed their war cries and attacked, but their swords rebounded from the gray light with bursts of brilliant sparks. Caina glimpsed Taldrane’s dark-armored form behind the first magus as the master magus cast a spell. She felt a sharp surge of arcane power, and the Kagari warriors hurtled backwards into the treasure room, flung back by a burst of psychokinetic force. The Magisterial Guards rushed through the door, swords raised.

  “Enough!” roared Jurchan in High Nighmarian, pointing his sword. “Enough!” The Kagari warriors and the Magisterial Guards hesitated, eyeing each other. “Taldrane! Come forth, son of a rutting dog, and face me!”

  The Guards parted, and Taldrane strode into the room, amusement on his stern face. The black plate armor of a battle magus made him look grim and terrible…and the blood dripping from the mace’s head further reinforced that impression.

  “Now you wish to talk, Jurchan?” said Taldrane. “I made you quite a generous offer and you threw it back in my face. You should have listened.”

  “I am a noyan of the Kagari people!” said Jurchan. “Not a mercenary to be hired and dismissed upon a whim!”

  “That is exactly what you are, Jurchan,” said Taldrane. “Alas, you thought yourself something more, and now your folly has brought you to destruction.”

  “Then lay aside your sorcery,” said Jurchan, “and face me as a man. It is hardly a fair contest when my blades cannot touch you. Put aside your witcheries and fight me.”

  Taldrane snorted. “To paraphrase the Kyracian proverb, does the falcon lay aside his flight so he might face the worm upon the earth? Certainly not. I hired you to do a job, and you did it. Now. Hand over the Sword, and I’ll let you live.”

  Jurchan let out a wild laugh. “I convinced the Count to draw the blade, and I saw its power. That power is enough to break even the spells of a master magus of the Magisterium.”

  Taldrane lifted his gray eyebrows. “You think yourself strong enough to wield the Sword?”

  “I am a noyan of the Kagari!” said Jurchan. “I am a warrior! Not a weakling scholar hunched over moldering books!”

  Taldrane gestured with his free hand. “By all means. Please demonstrate your strength for us.”

  Jurchan hesitated, for just a moment. Then he snarled, crossed to the table, and yanked the Sword of Nicokator from its scabbard.

  The Sword was well-preserved despite its age. The blade looked sharp enough to wound and kill. The entirety of the Sword had been coated with silver, and age had tarnished the silver black. Jurchan gazed at the Sword, his lips peeling back in a snarl, and started to turn towards Taldrane.

  The master magus gazed back with a smile.

  Jurchan took a step forward and then went rigidly motionless, and Caina felt a surge of arcane power.

  The black Sword started to glow with fiery, ruby-colored light, fingers of crimson radiance running up and down the blade. Jurchan went rigid, his eyes huge in his face, every muscle standing out in his neck and arms. He started to tremble, jerking back and forth as if fighting a terrible compulsion, and as he did both hands curled around the Sword’s hilt.

  He took a step back, his face filling with awful fear, and reversed the blade.

  Caina felt herself go cold.

  “Help me,” croaked Jurchan. “For the gods’ sake, Taldrane, help me. Help me!”

  “You’ve claimed the power of the Sword of the First Emperor,” said Taldrane. “Let us see if a Kagari dog is strong enough to wield it.”

  Jurchan screamed in terror as he placed the Sword’s point against his breastbone. For another instant he trembled, and then the aura of malevolent power surging through the room redoubled. The Kagari noyan took a running step and flung himself forward. The Sword’s pommel struck the floor, and Jurchan’s own weight drove the blade through his chest to erupt from his back, his blood glistening in the ruby-colored light.

  “Alas, alas,” said Taldrane as Jurchan writhed and howled in agony. “It seems that you were not strong enough. How terribly shocking. Perhaps you should have spent more time hunched over moldering books.”

  Jurchan shuddered and went limp, his blood pooling beneath them. The Kagari warriors stared at their slain noyan in horror.

  “Kill the rest,” said Taldrane. “Leave no witnesses behind.”

  The Kagari put up a good fight, but the Magisterial Guards advanced with cold determination, and the Kagari warriors could not stand against the fury of the spells of the magi. The battle ended swiftly, the Kagari lying dead upon the floor alongside their noyan. Caina tensed behind the rolled carpet, trying to think of a plan if the Magisterial Guards found her. She thought about feigning hysterics, but Taldrane wanted no witnesses left behind, and if the Guards found her, they would kill her. Even as she watched, the Guards began moving through the room, snatching up jewels and goblets and ingots of precious metals, the small, portable items.

  It seemed no on
e was interested in carrying an Anshani carpet back to the chapterhouse.

  Taldrane stooped over one of the dead Kagari warriors and ripped off his cloak. He crossed to Jurchan, wrapped the cloak around his hands, and yanked the Sword of Nicokator from the dead man’s chest. The blade glistened with blood, but the crimson light had vanished. Perhaps the power of the Sword only exerted itself when its hilt came into contact with living flesh.

  Caina was very glad she had not touched the hilt.

  Taldrane cleaned off the Sword and returned the weapon to its scabbard. “Decurion! We depart. The men may take whatever loot they wish, but only what they can carry. Any man who falls behind shall be disciplined. We will stop at the chapterhouse, and then depart. I want to be on the northern road by dawn. Is that understood?”

  The decurion shouted orders to the other Magisterial Guards, and Taldrane headed for the door, the cloak-wrapped Sword under his left arm. The Magisterial Guards followed, and in a few moments the room was empty. Caina waited, counting to a hundred. She did not want to encounter any Magisterial Guards, but she did not want to linger. The fighting would have drawn attention, and she would not put it past Taldrane to burn the building down to cover his tracks. The sooner Caina was gone, the better.

  She reached a hundred, and nothing stirred in the treasure room. Caina pushed away the rolled carpet and wriggled out from beneath the shelf, getting to her feet. She was alone with the dead, the smell of recent death heavy in the air, and she took careful steps around the pools of spilled blood. A trail of bloody footprints would not aid her escape. She headed towards the windows, intending to climb over the roof and withdraw down the main stairwell once again.

  Something caught her eye, and Caina stopped.

  The ancient map still lay upon the table. Taldrane knew where he was going, and so had ignored the map. Caina didn’t, and the map might well show her the way.

  She took the map, and fled into the night.

  ***

  Chapter 6: Revenge