Child of the Ghosts (4 page)

Even with the aid of stolen blood, Laeria had never been able to do anything like that. 

“Still fighting?” said Maglarion. “You are strong. A pity, indeed, that you do not have any arcane talent.” He looked away from her. “Ikhana?”

“Master?” said the tall woman, stepping to Maglarion’s side. 

“Gather up Laeria’s victims and take them to the sanctuary,” said Maglarion. “The foolish woman broke their minds, so they will be useless as slaves…but I still have a use for their lives. And so might you, come to think of it.”

For a brief moment something almost like a smile flickered across Ikhana’s face, her eyes kindling.

“Also, secure the child,” said Maglarion. “Have her bound and hooded, and taken to the sanctuary as well.”

Ikhana turned to the men. “Do as the Master bids.”

“Why?” said an unshaven man with ragged hair.

A hushed silence fell over the others.

Maglarion looked at him, a bland smile on his face.

“Why?” said the unshaven man, glaring at Ikhana. “I signed up for profit. And there’s no profit in selling drooling idiots as slaves.”

Slavers, Caina realized. The men were slave traders. Sebastian had told her how sometimes Istarish and Alqaarin slavers raided the Bay of Empire, capturing women and children to sell in the markets of Istarinmul and Nhabatan. 

“We won’t get much profit with one little girl,” said the unshaven man. “So let the old man use his witchery to keep her bound. I’m not lifting another finger until I get paid.”

Maglarion crooked his finger, his smile never wavering. 

For the briefest moment, something like green fire flickered beneath the cloth covering his left eye. 

And the unshaven man’s throat exploded in a crimson spray. He fell to his knees, choking and coughing, blood pouring down his chest, and then toppled onto his face.

“Does anyone else,” said Maglarion, “have any objections? Anyone? No. I thought not.”

“Do as the Master bids,” repeated Ikhana. 

The slavers hastened to obey. Some hurried into the hallway, while two stepped around the desk and picked up Sebastian. Maglarion released his mental grip on Caina, and she turned to run. But the slavers were faster. Two of them seized her arms, while a third pressed a rag over her face.

A strange, chemical stink filled Caina’s nostrils, and everything went dark.

Chapter 4 - The Necromantic Sciences

Caina awoke in darkness, her cheek against a rough stone floor. 

For a moment she thought she had rolled out of bed in the night. Then she remembered Maglarion and his sorcery, Ikhana and her empty eyes, and the slavers.

She remembered her father slumped motionless in his chair. 

Caina scrambled to her knees in sudden terror.

She was in a cell, the stone walls rough and glistening with dampness. A massive iron-banded oak door sealed the cell, a strange blue glow leaking through the barred window. The walls and floor were icy, and Caina started to shiver. 

What were they going to do with her?

Boots clicked in the hallway, and a key rattled in the door’s lock. The door started to open, but got stuck against the frame. Someone cursed and kicked it, and the door swung open with a shriek of rusted hinges.

Ikhana stood in the corridor outside, two of the Istarish slavers besides her.

“Good. She is awake,” said Ikhana, fingering the black dagger at her belt. “The Master requires her now. Take her.”

Caina pressed herself against the far wall, heart hammering with dread. The men reached in the cell, seized her arms, and dragged her out. Caina fought, or tried to, but the men held her fast.

“Also, gag her,” said Ikhana, her face expressionless. “If she disrupts the lesson, the Master shall be wroth.”

One of the men nodded, produced a length of rag, stuffed it into Caina’s mouth, and tied it behind her head. Then they carried her out the corridor and up a flight of stairs. Ikhana opened another door, and they stepped into an vast stone room, dozens of square pillars supporting a vaulted ceiling. More strange blue light filled the room, coming from glowing glass spheres upon iron stands. The Magisterium manufactured and enspelled those spheres, Caina remembered, selling them by the thousands. 

A dozen men and women stood near the far wall, speaking in low voices. Unlike the slavers, they wore ornate black robes, tied about the waist with crimson sashes. Magi, Caina realized, brothers and sisters of the Imperial Magisterium. 

A metal table stood before the assembled magi, its corroded surface marked with dark stains. The slavers wrestled Caina onto the table and shackled her wrists and ankles to the corners. The metal felt very cold through her clothes, and even colder against the bare skin of her wrists and ankles. 

A cane tapped against the flagstones, and the assembled magi felt silent.

Maglarion limped between the table and the magi, leaning upon his cane, his white hair ghostly in the pale light, his good eye hidden in shadow.

“Welcome,” he said, speaking in High Nighmarian. “Welcome.” He smiled and spread his hands. “Do you know why you are here?”

“This had better be worth the risk,” said one of the magi, a sullen man with a square jaw. “The practice of necromancy carries the death sentence. If the high magi or the Ghosts get word of this…”

“Nothing is accomplished without risk, Kylan,” said Maglarion. “If you are too timid to face that, then you may leave. But if you are strong enough to stay, then you will indeed see the power that lies within reach of the strong.”

Kylan scowled, but said no more.

“You are here,” said Maglarion, “because you are wiser than your peers. You realize that the Emperor’s ban against the necromantic sciences is foolish and short-sighted. In the days of the Fourth Empire, when the magi ruled, the Empire was strong. The commoners knew their place, and the magi used the blood of slaves to fuel mighty spells.” 

The magi nodded in agreement.

“And I am here,” said Maglarion, “because of my mastery of the necromantic sciences, and I mean that in the most literal sense. For I was born four hundred years ago, during the War of the Fourth Empire, and I studied at the feet of the great masters of those days, whose like cannot be found in the Magisterium today. And it is through necromancy that I have done what every god has promised, but cannot do - I have transcended death through my skill, attained immortality through my power. And you, too, may attain immortality - if you are strong enough.” 

“And how did you attain this?” said Kylan, still dubious. 

“Power is the essential principle of sorcery,” said Maglarion. “Or, more precisely, the source of a spell’s power. A magus can draw upon his mind to empower a spell,” he gestured, and his cane floated into the air, “or upon the elements of earth, wind, and water. And the necromantic sciences draw their power from death, from the consumption of life. Just as burning coal produces light and heat, so also does the destruction of life produce necromantic power. Observe.”

He turned towards Caina, a glittering dagger in his hand. 

Caina shrieked and fought the restraints, her wrist and ankles scraping against the steel. Maglarion cut open the bottom of her shirt, revealing her stomach. 

“And blood,” said Maglarion, “is the foundation of necromancy.”

He drew the tip of the dagger across Caina’s stomach, slicing the skin and opening a long cut below her navel. 

Caina screamed into her gag, but the shackles held her fast.

“Come now,” said Maglarion, digging the dagger deeper, hot blood welling over her chilled skin. “I wouldn’t thrash about. You will only do further damage to yourself.” 

A chuckle went through the magi.

It hurt worse than anything she had ever known. Caina lay trembling and helpless, sobbing into the gag, as Maglarion sawed the dagger back and forth. Finally he grunted in satisfaction and produced a small silver cup, its sides black with age and tarnish. As her blood drained into grooves on the metal table, he held the cup below it, catching the crimson droplets. 

“Observe,” he said, lifting up the cup. “A virgin’s blood. It can be used for a variety of useful necromantic applications, but the most potent is that of a bloodcrystal.” 

He whispered an incantation, green flames snarling and crackling around his fingertips. Again emerald light flickered beneath his eye patch. Caina felt a sudden sharp tingle, in addition to the pain, and for a moment her stomach clenched with nausea.

That only made the gash on her stomach hurt worse. 

Then the green fire faded, and Maglarion reached into the cup.

“Behold,” he said, holding out his hand. “A bloodcrystal.”

A black gem perhaps the size of Caina’s thumb rested in his hand. It was the exact color of dried blood, yet looked as hard and as sharp as obsidian. 

“It stores the force, the raw life energy, that was latent in her blood,” said Maglarion, gazing into the crystal’s black depths. 

“Fascinating,” said another of the magi. “So the power can be stored for later use?”

“Yes,” said Maglarion. He paused for a moment, as if just remembering something, and tucked the bloodcrystal away in a pocket of his coat. “Any blood can be used, of course, but the best results are obtained from the blood of a virgin.”

“Then you’d best make as many as you can now,” said Kylan. “The way the child is bleeding, you won’t have the opportunity.”

Caina sagged against the cold metal table, the room spinning around her. Her emotions numbed, and so did her pain. She was going to bleed to death, she realized. That thought did not trouble her. 

At least she would be free of this place, and these men.

Maglarion chuckled. “Not yet. I still have a use for her, you see.”

He made a slashing motion, and again green flame erupted around his hand. He dragged his glowing fingers across Caina’s wound, and fresh pain exploded through her, worse than before. She screamed again, and Maglarion’s hand burned like ice against her skin. 

Then the pain faded, leaving only numbness. The cut on her stomach had vanished, leaving a ugly crimson scar. 

“Necromantic power can also be used to heal,” said Maglarion. He ran a finger along the new-made scar. “Though the experience is often…unpleasant.” 

“Why not simply kill her outright, and use all her blood at once?” asked another magus.

“No need to be wasteful,” said Maglarion, flexing his fingers. “With proper care, we can continue to bleed her for several months yet. Once she has her first menstrual cycle, then I’ll kill her. The womb of a virgin contains tremendous potential for necromantic energy. Think of all the children that might have grown there, the lives that might have begun within her…then imagine all that potential power consumed and used to your ends. The womb of a virgin can be used in the most powerful workings of arcane science. Though, alas, the process of removing it is almost invariably fatal.” 

“Fascinating,” said Kylan. He seemed intrigued, even excited. “The Empire is filled with useless mouths. If their blood were harnessed to empower mighty spells…think of all that we could accomplish. We could restore the glory of the Fourth Empire. We could surpass the glory of the Fourth Empire!”

Maglarion smiled. “I am pleased that you recognize the potential.” He glanced at Ikhana. “Take her. Bring another. One of the mind-wiped ones. The old seneschal, I think.”

Two of slavers unlocked Caina and dragged her from the metal table. She tried to fight, but the loss of blood made her light-headed, and she sagged against them, the room spinning around her. 

“What we have seen,” said Maglarion, “uses only a small amount of blood. But by using every drop of blood in a human body…dramatic effects can be achieved.”

More slaves appeared, carrying old Morus between them. They dumped him on the metal table without bothering to shackle his wrists and ankles. 

“Observe,” said Maglarion, crossing to the table, his glittering dagger in hand. 

The slavers had just opened the door to the cell when Caina felt the crawling tingle of another spell.

Maglarion had just murdered Morus. 

The slavers dumped Caina back into her cell and shut the door. She tried to stand, but her head kept spinning, and she collapsed against the wall, sinking into darkness. 

###

Time passed. 

Caina knew neither day nor night in this dark place, but some slavers arrived with a plate of food and ordered her to eat. Caina refused. The slavers grunted, disappeared, and returned with Ikhana. 

The woman knelt before Caina, pale eyes blank and empty. Caina shied away from her, pushing into the corner. 

“You will eat, child,” said Ikhana, her voice soft. 

“No,” said Caina.

Ikhana almost smiled. 

Her hand blurred, and suddenly her black dagger rested against Caina’s cheek. The gleaming blade had been carved with strange, flowing symbols. 

“You are fortunate, child,” said Ikhana, “that the Master requires you alive, for now. Because I would enjoy killing you. I would very much enjoy killing you.” She caressed Caina’s face with the blade. “You are young and strong. For now. How I want to devour you.” Again her eyes kindled with something like madness. “Perhaps I will, before the Master leaves you used up and empty.”

Gently, she pushed the tip of the dagger into the skin of Caina’s jaw. 

All at once a horrible cold filled Caina. The tip of the black dagger felt like an icicle stabbing into her. The symbols on the blade flickered and danced with green light, and Caina felt a terrible emptiness radiating from the blade, something cold and hungry.

As if the dagger yearned to suck away all her life and warmth.

Ikhana sighed and straightened up. “But…not yet. The Master has a use for you. After he is finished with you…then I shall feast upon you, yes.” She turned and left, the door closing behind her, leaving Caina alone with the food. 

Caina tried to ignore it, but she was soon so hungry that she ate and drank anyway. Then she sat alone in the darkness, alternating between fits of weeping and shocked numbness. From time to time she heard an agonized scream as Maglarion continued his lessons, and she felt the crawling tingle of arcane spells. 

Sometimes she fell asleep in brief, feverish snatches. But every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares filled her mind. Her father, slumped in his chair. Her mother, laughing at her.

The way the poker had felt when it connected with Laeria’s face, the sound her skull had made, bouncing off the edge of Sebastian’s desk. 

She woke up screaming. 

Perhaps four days passed before Ikhana returned. The cell door screamed open, rust falling in flakes from the iron hinges. 

“Take her,” said Ikhana. 

Caina tried to scramble out of reach, but she felt tired, sluggish, and the slavers seized her with ease. The memory of Maglarion’s glittering dagger filled her with terrified strength, and she tried to fight. Finally one of the slavers cursed in annoyance and cuffed her across the face, while a second man twisted her arms behind her back. A third one gagged her once more. They marched her back into the vaulted room and shackled her to the metal table once more.

Numerous fresh stains marked the table.

The assembled magi sat upon chairs, watching, while Maglarion stood nearby, drumming his fingers on the head of his cane. 

“Now,” said Maglarion, as the slavers finished chaining Caina to the table. “As I have demonstrated, specific amounts of blood, used properly, can fuel potent necromantic effects. But let us turn from the specific to the general. Death itself, the sundering of spirit from flesh, generates power, and that power can be tapped and controlled by the skilled practitioner. Any death releases power. The younger the victim, the more energy that is released, but even the deaths of the elderly and the sick can be used. But first,” he turned towards the table, dagger in hand, “we must prepare a receptacle to store that power.”  

Caina screamed into the gag, muscles going rigid with horrified anticipation. Maglarion paid no heed, but brushed aside the bloodstained rags of her shirt and slashed his dagger across the scar. 

It hurt worse than before.

The blood welled across Caina’s skin, and Maglarion sawed deeper, ignoring Caina’s trembling. Then he produced the black crystal he had made from her blood, and rubbed it through the gash, whispering a spell as he did so. Green flames danced around his hand, filling Caina with cold pain, and she howled into the gag until she thought she might bite through it.