Ghost Wounds, Episode 11a

You decide to take Ark to Rhazion.

“Carry him,” you tell Noraster and Moresti.

Septimus Rhazion lives in a modest townhouse on the edge of Malarae’s wealthier district, not far from the Catekhari Lord Ambassador’s residence. Rhazion had once been the preceptor of the Magisterium’s local chapterhouse, but after that business with the mavrokh, the First Magus demoted him. Now Rhazion is in semi-retirement, and spends most of his time writing.

And passing information to the Ghosts, of course.

You pound on his door until it opens.

Rhazion is stout and balding, with a drooping face and sad eyes. He looks at you, and at Moresti and Noraster, who are carrying Ark between them.

“I am certain, sirs,” he says at last, “that you must have the wrong house.”

He doesn’t recognize you. But you see him recognize Moresti’s facial tattoo, see the realization starting in his eyes.

You push the greasy black hair out of your face, let him see your eyes. “Hello, Rhazion.”

His mouth drops open. “Oh, gods. Countess?”

You nod. “I need your aid.”

“Oh, gods,” says Rhazion, raking a hand through what’s left of his hair. “Oh, gods. This isn’t at all good. You really shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” you say.

Rhazion’s expression moves through terror, then doubt, and finally settles upon resignation. “I owe you, don’t I? You saved my daughter.” He reaches into his black robe and hands you a scroll. “A messenger from the Magisterium delivered this just after sunset.”

You unroll the scroll and read it.

It’s a death warrant.

Specifically, your death warrant. In it the First Magus proclaims you, Countess Caina of House Amalas, an enemy of the Empire and the Magisterium, and offers the astronomical reward of one million denarii for your death. You are astonished. The Magisterium has been trying to kill you for years, but in secret, with hired assassins. They’ve never dared to do so openly. The Emperor would never stand for it.

“What’s going on, Countess?” says Rhazion. “The First Magus, the last few weeks, has been acting…erratically. Like he’s gone insane. The high magi, too. And then this death warrant.”

“I don’t know,” you say, nodding at Ark, “but he might know.”

You follow Rhazion into his book-lined study, and have Noraster and Moresti lay Ark upon the table. You explain to Rhazion everything that has happened, and his expression grows ever more alarmed. Especially when you mention Croanna.

“I…knew her,” he says, “when she was only an initiate. She was never terribly powerful. But she was exceedingly clever, and had a dreadful cruel streak. Little wonder she fell in with Morneus. And if she’s acquired real power, I shudder to think what she’ll do with it.”

“The bracelet,” you say. “I think it has a mind-controlling spell. Can you get it off him?”

Rhazion grunts and begins muttering spells over Ark, your skin tingling in reaction. You hate sorcery, and you don’t like Rhazion very much – but you need his help. Ark wakes up as Rhazion casts the spells, and starts to struggle against the ropes, his eyes and face still emotionless.

If he gets loose, he’ll try to kill you.

“Gods,” whispers Rhazion. “This…this bracelet, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a Catekhari design – the Catekhari sorcerers are the best artificers in the world. But the thing’s fused with one of the Magisterium’s mind-controlling spells, and the whole thing is powered by necromancy.” He shakes his head. “I think…no, I’m certain that it can compel of a form of sorcerous mind-control more powerful than anything ever seen. I can’t believe Croanna created something like this!”

“Maybe she’s better at artificing than at casting spells,” you say. “Can you get the damn thing off him?”

Rhazion nods. “It will take hours, though. Maybe a couple of days. The spells involved are simply too intricate.” He laughs. “Now, if I had a ghostsilver weapon, I could do it in two minutes, and…”

You hold up your ghostsilver dagger. Rhazion’s eyes bulge – the weapon is worth maybe twice the bounty the First Magus promised for your head.

“Can I use this without killing him?” you say.

“Yes,” says Rhazion. “If…you’re careful. Very, very careful. You see that rune, there, cut into the bracelet? Press the dagger’s point there, and the entire structure of the spell will temporarily destabilize, long enough for you to get the bracelet off. But you’ll have to hold it there for at least twelve seconds. Maybe more. Touch any other part of the bracelet with the dagger, and the spells will collapse. Violently. That almost certainly will kill him, and probably you as well.”

You grimace. Twelve seconds means you won’t be able to cut off one of these bracelets in the heat of combat. But you tell Moresti and Noraster to hold the struggling Ark still, and you press the ghostsilver dagger’s point into the rune. Immediately the dagger’s hilt grows hot against your fingers, and the bronze bracelet shudders, almost like a startled insect. And then it uncoils from Ark’s wrist, the spikes retracting from his flesh, and falls to the floor with a clang.

“Don’t touch it,” says Rhazion.

Moresti snorts. “Moresti would not touch it for all the gold in the Emperor’s palace.”

Ark’s eyes bulge, and he starts to shudder, his head rolling back and forth.

You grab his temple, turn his head to face you.

“Countess,” rasps Ark. “Gods. It really is you.” He closes his eyes, still shuddering. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop it. Not after she put that mindreaver on my wrist.” He opens his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

You make yourself smile and pull the rope from his wrists, helping him to sit up. “It will take more than that to kill me.”

Moresti nods. “She is Frostmaiden.”

Ark takes a long breath. “I would have killed you. I couldn’t have stopped myself.” He closes his eyes again. “And after…Croanna ordered me to kill my wife and children as soon as you were dead.”

“Why?” you say.

But she was exceedingly clever, and had a dreadful cruel streak…

“It’s how she binds her slaves to herself,” says Ark. “That’s the first command she gives, usually, to break their spirits. But she wanted you dead, immediately, so she sent me to kill you. Otherwise I would have killed Tanya and the children.” His voice is raw with pain. “I…I couldn’t have stopped myself.”

And Lucan has been with this woman’s hands for over twelve hours now.

“Croanna is going to pay for what she has done,” you say, voice soft, “but I’ll need to know some things first.”

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