Ghost Wounds, Episode 16a

“As you wish,” you say, walking towards the creature. “My flesh is yours.”

The undead thing floats towards you, the hem of its red and gold robes brushing the floor. An ancient pyromancer of power the creature might be, but it doesn’t know the first thing about hand-to-hand fighting, which you prove when you duck past its clawed fingers, take a running leap forward, and plunge the ghostsilver dagger into the sacrophagus’s side.

The blade sinks into the lead sarcophagus like soft butter. The burning runes flash with silver light, and the creature wails in sudden agony. You rip your dagger along the sarcophagus’s flank, the hilt growing agonizingly hot beneath your fingers, and tear open a gash ablaze with silver flame. The creature staggers, yellow-orange flame crackling around its fingers.

“Countess!” shouts Noraster. “May I suggest that we run?”

The creature straightens up, burning eyes fixed on you, and begins a spell.

You sprint across the crypt, following the others.

“Through the doors!” yells Rhazion. “It can’t follow us past the wards.”

The others race through the archway, and you fling yourself after them. A moment later the undead thing flings out its hand, and flames explode behind you, filling the crypt with a raging inferno.

But the flames do not pass beyond the archway. When the firestorm clears, the creature is gone…and the gash on the leaden sarcophagus has vanished.

“That went well,” says Ark.

Noraster snorts. “In what possible way did that go well?”

Ark shrugs. “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

Moresti guffaws.

Rhazion stares at you in puzzlement. “That spell the creature used…you only see the person you love the most, trapped in agony. You…actually saw someone?”

You nod. “What of it?”

Rhazion shrugs. “I…didn’t think a woman like you was capable of such emotion.”

“Do you now?” you say, annoyed. But, then, you can hardly blame him for thinking that, considering that you almost killed him in front of his daughter. “If I could work my will, I wouldn’t have been a Ghost. I would have been married, had six or seven children by now.” But that kind of life can’t happen.

Not for you. Not with the injuries the magi inflicted upon you as a child.

But perhaps it can still happen for Lucan, if you save him from Croanna.

For Lucan, with his wife Livia. Not with you.

You let out a long breath, force aside the emotions. Later. Right now you have to get to the Emperor before Croanna. If it’s not already too late.

The others are watching you. Vaguely you wonder what your expression looked like just now.

“Follow me,” you say.

You lead them through the maze of the catacombs, thankfully avoiding more crazed undead sorcerers. Then you climb up a long winding spiral staircase, ascending high into the mountain.

Then you open a secret door, and step into one of the broad marble corridors of the Imperial Citadel, seat and fortress of the Emperor.

“Moresti has gone up in the world,” Moresti says, looking at the statues and busts of long-dead lords and Emperors.

“Don’t steal anything,” you say.

Moresti sighs.

It’s three or four hours past midnight by now, and the corridors are deserted. You take them to your suite, a small set of rooms in a corner tower. You let them help themselves to your store of weapons (you keep essentially a small armory on hand), and equip yourself with your shadow-cloak. Lighter than silk and black as night, the cloak lets you move unseen in the shadows. It also has the useful effect of shielding your thoughts from mind-altering sorcery. Which will keep another spell like the one in the crypts from affecting your mind.

Though it won’t stop a magus from using telekinetic force to shatter your skull.

“Now what?” says Rhazion, eyeing the small arsenal carried by Moresti, Ark, and Noraster.

“We find the Emperor,” you say, tucking extra throwing knives into your belt, “and kill Croanna.”

And get Lucan back. If he’s still alive.

There are three options. At this hour, the Emperor is probably in his private quarters in the Tower of Corthios. However, if he was meeting with the Catekhari Lord Ambassador, he might be in the hall of the Tower of Nicokator. Finally, there is a Ghost among the Imperial Guard, a centurion named Tylas. His century is on guard duty tonight, and he might know the Emperor’s location.

Assuming Croanna hasn’t gotten to Tylas, though. And the Magisterium has that enormous death bounty on your head. Anyone who recognizes you might try to collect.

“Your wishes, Countess?” says Noraster.

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