Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge Read Free

her.
    “You were speaking,” he said in flawless Cyrican, “of the Balarigar?”
    Caina smiled at him. “But, sir, I don’t know what to say. It’s just a story I heard. They say there are djinni in the Sarbian desert and serpents in the deeps of Cyrican Sea. But I don’t know if that’s true or not.”
    The man frowned. “That word. Balarigar. Do you know it? It is from the Szaldic tongue. It means…the slayer of demons, the hunter of darkness.”
    “I am sorry, sir,” said Caina, “but I was born in Malarae, and came to Cyrica Urbana with my father as a child. The only Szalds I’ve ever seen have been a few slaves. I don’t know anything about Szaldic legends.”
    Perhaps he was just a lonely scholar, eager to lecture an unwilling audience. But his eyes did not waver, and Caina had the sudden feeling that the man was much older than he appeared.
    Suddenly he reminded her of Jadriga, and she felt a tingle of alarm. 
    “They’re real, you know,” said the man. “All the Szaldic legends. All their tales of blood and horror. They’re all real.”
    Caina knew that very well. She had seen the black pit below Marsis. She had seen Jadriga’s mighty sorcery.
    And she knew what had become of Jadriga’s spirit.
    “Be off with you,” said Corvalis. “There’s no need to frighten her with Szaldic ghost stories.” 
    “They’re not,” whispered the man with the cane, “stories.”
    Corvalis’s smile showed teeth. “Come now, fellow. No need for this to get unpleasant.” His hand dropped to his sword hilt. “Be. Off.”
    Barimaz looked back and forth, blinking. 
    “Very well,” said the man with the cane.
    He limped away. 
    “Peculiar,” murmured Corvalis. “Do you recognize him?”
    “No,” said Caina, “I’ve never seen him before.”
    “Forgive me, young sir,” said Barimaz, “but if this man is an enemy of yours, I ask that you kill him away from my cart. Killing draws the attention of the militia, which would be most unwelcome.” 
    “No fear, Barimaz,” said Corvalis. “We’ll…”
    The man with the cane reached into his coat, drew something out, and lifted it to his face. 
    “Look,” hissed Caina. 
    A jade mask covered the features of the man with the cane. The mask had been carved with a face of inhuman beauty, its features serene. A ring of peculiar glyphs encircled the mask, stylized images of animals and birds and men, symbols that tugged at Caina’s memory.
    She had seen those symbols somewhere before.
    “What the devil?” said Corvalis.
    The man in the jade mask lifted his cane, and it broke in half, the wood clattering on the street. He was left holding a rod of a peculiar silvery metal, about two feet long, its length carved with more of those odd symbols. 
    “Yes,” said the masked man, his voice distorted behind the jade lips. “You are her. I should have known.” 
    “Enough,” said Corvalis, starting to draw his sword. “Identify…”
    The man flicked his wrist, and Caina felt the crawling tingle of sorcery. She had been scarred by a necromancer of terrible power in her youth, and ever since she had been able to sense the presence of arcane force. The sensitivity had sharpened as she grew older, and now she could distinguish between the kind and magnitude of spells.
    The silver rod in the masked man’s hand radiated tremendous power. 
    White light flared around the rod, and both Barimaz and Corvalis fell limp to the ground. Caina shot a look at them, keeping her eyes on the masked man. Both Corvalis and Barimaz were both still alive, but unconscious. Yet in Corvalis’s sleeve she glimpsed a glimmer of white light.
    His tattoos. Would they have resisted the masked man’s spell?
    “You killed them!” shouted Caina, hoping to distract his attention from Corvalis.
    “I did not,” said the masked man, stepping towards her. His right leg twitched and trembled. Apparently he had needed that cane. “I don’t know what vile use you had in mind for