Ghost in the Storm (The Ghosts) (37 page)

“There...may be something to Sicarion's theory, sister,” said Kylon.

“What?” said Andromache. "Surely you do not believe that she is the Moroaica reborn."

“No. But if this Ghost truly killed the Moroaica,” said Kylon, “then it is possible a portion of the Moroaica's power is trapped within her. And I sense...something. Like sorcerous scarring upon her aura.” 

Andromache looked at Caina, eyes narrowed. 

“Forgive me,” said Sicarion, “but there is a way to test the truth of my claims.”

“Oh?” said Andromache.

“Have her open the doors of the Tomb,” said Sicarion. “The Moroaica laid the wards over the Tomb. If she is truly the Moroaica, then she will open the doors, and the wards will unravel for her.”

“And if she is not?” said Kylon.

Sicarion shrugged. “And if she is not, then the wards will burn her to ash. A simple test, no?”

Andromache stared at Caina for a long moment. 

“Very well,” she said at last.

The dead mercenaries released Caina. She caught her balance, rubbing her arms. Her shadow-cloak was gone, but they had not taken her weapons. Indeed, why would they bother? If she attacked Kylon, Andromache would blast her with lightning. If she attacked Andromache, Kylon would cut her down. 

And if tried to run, Sicarion would find her. 

“Open the doors now,” said Andromache, lifting her hand, “or I will kill you. I care not which.” 

Caina took a deep breath and walked to the bronze doors. With every step, the sense of powerful necromancy grew stronger, until her skin felt as if she had been dipped in filth and ice. She stopped before the doors, the necromantic aura washing over her. Nicorus hadn't told her what the wards sealing the Tomb did, but she guessed it wasn't pleasant. 

Caina grasped the bronze rings upon the doors.

Nothing happened. 

She pulled on the rings, muscles straining. For a moment the doors remained motionless. Then with a low groan, they swung open. And as they did, Caina felt the wards fade away, unraveling into nothingness. Beyond the doors a broad corridor sloped downward into the darkness, its walls carved with more Maatish hieroglyphs. But Caina hardly noticed.

She had been able to open the warded doors. Did that mean some of Jadriga's power had passed to her? How much of it?

All of it?

The thought horrified her.

“You see?” said Sicarion, his rusty voice cutting into Caina's thoughts. “She is the Moroaica.”

“Doubtful,” said Andromache. “Most likely she slew the Moroaica, and a portion of the Moroaica's power is trapped inside her spirit. I have read of such things happening, though I never thought to encounter it.” She pointed at Sicarion's men. “Take her with us and keep her under guard. I can examine her at leisure after I have claimed Scorikhon's power for my own.” 

For a moment Caina considered running, but Sicarion's men blocked the exit. And even if she eluded them, Sicarion could find her anywhere.

If she was to escape from this, she needed to use her wits.

Unfortunately, her wits offered no solutions. 

“Come,” said Andromache. She lifted her hand, a ball of pulsing silver light appearing above her palm, and entered the stone corridor. 

“After you, mistress,” said Sicarion, beckoning.

“If I commanded you to let me go,” said Caina, “would you heed me? Since you seem to think I am the Moroaica?”

“You would not reward me if I did, mistress,” said Sicarion. “And you are the Moroaica.” His yellow teeth flashed in a grin. “For how else could you have opened the doors?” 

Caina had no answer for that.

They descended into the corridor, Andromache's silver light dispelling the darkness. Rows of intricate hieroglyphs covered the walls, alongside complex diagrams of arcane symbols. Caina looked over the symbols and shuddered. She had seen similar diagrams on the ancient Maatish scroll that had cost her father his life, the scroll Maglarion had tried to use to become a god. 

Kylon walked between her and Andromache. He looked at Caina, his sword still in hand. His face was calm, but the muscles around his eyes kept twitching.

“You know this is madness,” said Caina, voice low, hoping Andromache would not hear.

Kylon said nothing. 

“You told me that necromancy is a monstrous crime,” said Caina. “And you know that the power in the Tomb must be necromantic. Andromache thinks she can wield it. What do you think the power will do to her if she claims it? Or what she might do with it? You went into the tavern, didn't you? You saw the bodies?”

“You lie, Ghost,” said Kylon. “I went into the tavern. There were no bodies.” 

Caina took a gamble. “But was there blood?” Even if Andromache had destroyed the bodies, Caina doubted the stormsinger would have bothered to mop up all the blood.

Kylon said nothing, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. 

“You know what she did,” said Caina. “Her power came from somewhere. The Moroaica was a necromancer. Why wouldn't she teach Andromache necromancy?”

“Necromancy is an abomination,” said Kylon, voice hoarse. “The ancient laws of Old Kyrace forbid it. Any necromancers found in New Kyre are killed. No noble of a Kyracian House would ever do such a vile thing.”

“Are you sure?” said Caina. A new tactic occurred to her. “What if the Moroaica lied to Andromache? What if the power here will only destroy her?” 

Kylon frowned. “I...”

“Brother?” said Andromache. “What is it?” Her gaze fell on Caina. “What lies are you telling him, Ghost? Deceit is the weapon of your kind.”

Caina met her gaze. “I told him that opening the Tomb of Scorikhon is folly, that the power will destroy anyone foolish enough to claim it.” Andromache lifted an eyebrow, but Caina kept speaking. “I hoped he could dissuade you before you destroyed yourself.” 

“She's telling the truth,” said Kylon. "I can sense it." 

“You believe her over your own blood?” said Andromache.

“No!” said Kylon. “Of course not. It's just...the Ghost believes that she is telling the truth. Sincerely and completely. She believes what she is telling you.”

Andromache stared down at Caina. 

“She may be sincere,” said Andromache, “but she is wrong.” 

“I'm not,” said Caina. “This is madness and you know it. Necromantic power will lead to your death. Or worse.” 

“No,” said Andromache. “Necromancy is merely another tool.”

Sicarion nodded, and Kylon's breath hissed through his teeth.

“Necromancy is an abomination, sister,” said Kylon. "Surely...surely you have not...”

“Of course not,” said Andromache. “But understand this, Ghost. I will do whatever is necessary for the security of my family.”

“Even if it means killing everyone in Marsis and starting a war?” said Caina. “Or releasing whatever horrors are locked down here? Or wielding necromancy?”

“Whatever is necessary," said Andromache. 

Kylon stared at her.

“We've wasted enough time,” said Andromache. “Sicarion! If she talks again, kill her.”

“She is the mistress,” said Sicarion.

Andromache scowled. “Fine. If she talks again, silence her. I don't care how you do it.” 

Kylon hesitated, and turned back to his sister.

Sicarion bowed, and they resumed walking down the corridor. The slope of the floor grew steeper, and Caina took care to keep her footing steady. The air became musty, a dry, dusty smell filling her nostrils.

“What is that smell?” said Kylon.

“Mummified flesh,” said Sicarion. 

“The necromancer-priests of ancient Maat embalmed their dead,” said Andromache. “And with their necromancy, the mummified dead could live forever...after a fashion.” She lifted the silver light in her hand. “The necromancers of the Red Circle must have continued the practice.”

That was a disturbing thought. Did that mean Scorikhon still lived in an undead form in the heart of his tomb? Andromache was bad enough. Caina had no wish to face a centuries-dead necromancer. 

The corridor ended, and they found the source of the musty odor. 

A large hall stretched before them, lined with pillars, hundreds of niches carved in the walls. In each of the niches stood a gaunt, misshapen form wrapped in stained linen. Most were no larger than cats, while some were almost the size of small horses...

Caina blinked.

The things in the niches were cats. 

Hundreds of long-dead, mummified cats. Most were common house cats, but Caina saw panthers, lynxes, and even some lions in their mix. The mummification process had withered their flesh, leaving only skeletons draped in brittle linen and ragged fur. The cats seemed to watch them with empty eye sockets, yellow teeth rising from their muzzles and yellowed claws jutting from their paws. 

It was...unsettling. 

And Caina felt the crawling tingle of necromancy in the air.

“Cats?” said Kylon, baffled. “Why cats?”

Even Andromache seemed at a loss.

“Because,” said Caina, watching to see if Sicarion would attack her for speaking. “The ancient Maatish believed cats were the avatars of one of their goddesses. So they worshiped cats, and mummified their bodies after death. The Red Circle must have mimicked them.” 

Sicarion only gave her a small smirk. As if he knew a secret that the rest of them did not. 

“Yes, that's right,” said Andromache. “I had forgotten. How did you know that?”

Caina shrugged. “I read a lot.” 

“There are necromantic spells here, sister,” said Kylon, looking over the rows of mummified cats. “Powerful ones.”

“I sense them, as well,” said Andromache. “Let us see if I can discern their purpose.” 

She began to cast a spell, gesturing with her free hand. Caina felt the tingle of Andromache's power strain against the ancient strength of the necromantic spells. For a moment it reminded her of an icy mountain wind blowing away the stench of a corpse.

A stench that suddenly grew much sharper.

Caina's stomach twisted as she felt the necromantic spells flare with power.

“Stop!” she shouted. “You're going to...”

Hundreds of tiny green flames appeared in the empty eyes of the dead cats, flooding the chamber with ghostly light. A rustling sound echoed off the stone walls, and Caina realized that the dead things were moving, that their limbs were twitching, their tails coiling and uncoiling.

And then in one motion the dead cats jumped from their niches and attacked. 

One of the living mercenaries went down, buried beneath a score of undead cats and one mummified panther. The man screamed in horror, blood blossoming across his face as claws dug into his flesh. Yet the cats themselves remained silent, the only noise the rustle of their linen wrappings. The panther's yellowing jaws closed around the man's throat, and his screams ended with a hideous crunch. 

And the wall of mummified flesh surged toward Caina. 

She doubted her steel weapons could harm the cats, so she yanked her ghostsilver dagger from its sheath and attacked. The blade sheared through the dead flesh like butter, and she destroyed three of the cats in short order, their corpses collapsing into piles of dusty bone and ragged fur. Yet there were too many of the things, and Caina turned to flee before they ripped her to shreds.

But the cats flowed around her. Even as Caina struck down two more, they ignored her. The Moroaica's wards upon the doors had dissolved at Caina's touch. Had the necromantic spells animating the cats decided that Caina was the Moroaica?

Disturbing thought. 

It was almost as disturbing as watching an army of dead cats rip apart Sicarion's mercenaries. The living mercenaries died in heartbeats, while the cats tore the dead ones to shreds. Sicarion himself remained clear, daggers in both hands, moving with speed and agility belied by his scarred appearance. 

Then Kylon and Andromache recovered from their surprise and attacked. 

Kylon shot forward with superhuman speed, and the sheer force of his passage plowed a path through the advancing cats. His sword struck right and left in a white blur. The undead cats had no blood to freeze, but for all their unnatural strength, they were only brittle bone and dried fur, and every one of Kylon's blows shattered a half-dozen of the creatures. 

Andromache gestured, and Caina felt the surge of the stormsinger's arcane might. Miniature whirlwinds formed in the chamber, turning the dead cats to dust. One of the undead lions raced at Andromache, jaws yawning wide, and she pointed at it. White mist swirled around her outstretched finger, and a spear-sized icicle shot through the air to pin the lion against the wall. 

But more of the dead cats raced toward them, their claws clicking against the stone floor. Andromache conjured up more whirlwinds, and Kylon spun and slashed like a whirlwind himself, but the assault did not slow. The cats continued to ignore Caina, and she hesitated. If she fled, perhaps they would overwhelm Andromache, keep her from claiming Scorikhon's power...