Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask Read Online Free

only the magi know how.” Shaizid hurried across the floor, Corvalis following, a slender wooden box under one arm. “Master Anton and I have business to discuss with you.”
    “Yes,” said Halfdan, his eyes straying to the box. “I believe we do. If you would lead the way?”
     
    ###
     
    Caina, Corvalis, and Halfdan went to Anton Kularus’s study on the House’s top floor. A thick carpet covered the floorboards, and a balcony looked over the bustling Imperial Market. A heavy desk stood near the balcony, and shelves lined the walls, holding books that Corvalis had not read, but Caina had. Here Corvalis conducted the business of the House of Kularus, masquerading as Anton Kularus. Caina and Shaizid made most of the decisions, and Corvalis made an effective figurehead. 
    Muravin stationed himself at the door with a scowl, ready to discourage any eavesdroppers.
    “So,” said Halfdan, seating himself, “I understand you had an eventful night?”
    “That may be an understatement,” said Caina, sitting across from Halfdan, Corvalis next to her. 
    “The magi, of course, are saying nothing,” said Halfdan. “The new preceptor’s public pronouncement claimed a renegade magus tried to assassinate the master magi of Malarae, but the renegade died in the attack. I suspect things happened rather differently.”
    “They did,” said Caina, and she told him in detail about Jurius’s attack and his strange weapon.
    Halfdan’s expression, already solemn, grew even graver.
    “Anubankh,” he said when Caina had finished. “You are certain he said that?”
    “Absolutely,” said Caina. “I thought the name sounded familiar. It’s Maatish, is it not?”
    “It is,” said Halfdan. “One of the gods of old Maat. Specifically, the god of necromancy.” 
    Caina felt a chill.
    “The Maatish worshipped necromancy?” said Corvalis. “That’s rather grim.”
    “They didn’t call it necromancy,” said Halfdan. “Rather, Anubankh was their god of…immortality, let us say. The ancient Maatish were obsessed with immortality. Necromancy was merely the tool they used to try and obtain it. Their necromancer-priests, the Great Necromancers, used sorcery to embalm the pharaohs, to give them a sort of eternal life in their pyramid tombs.”
    “And their slaves,” said Caina. She remembered the piece of the Moroaica’s memories that she had glimpsed, how a Maatish priest had murdered her father and led Jadriga away to be raised as one of the pharaoh’s undead slaves for eternity. “They called them the Undying.” The Moroaica was a sorceress of power, a woman whose schemes and spells had cost the lives of uncounted thousands…but she had once been a little girl whose father had been murdered in front of her.
    Just as Caina had been. 
    “So the question is,” said Corvalis, “why an outcast magus shows up screaming prayers to Anubankh and promising that the Kingdom of the Rising Sun shall be born again?”
    “A very good question,” said Halfdan. “You have his weapon, I trust?”
    Caina nodded, and Corvalis lifted the box. 
    “Show me,” said Halfdan. “I think I know what it is…and I hope that I am wrong.” 
    Corvalis produced a key, undid three locks, and opened the box. Inside lay Jurius’s black dagger, the steel still gleaming with its strange green glow, the bloodcrystal flickering with its own light. 
    For a moment they stared at the weapon in silence.
    “An evil-looking thing,” rumbled Muravin. “Almost as ill-omened as those golden ashes Sinan wanted.” 
    “No,” said Halfdan. He looked shaken. Caina had been with Halfdan in more dangerous situations than she cared to remember, but she had never seen him look quite so alarmed. “No, this is much worse.” 
    “It’s Maatish, isn’t it?” said Caina. 
    Halfdan barked a laugh. “Not quite. It is, in fact, a Nighmarian weapon. The magi made it.”
    “The magi?” said Caina.
    “It’s called a Dustblade,” said Halfdan, “and