Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask by Jonathan Moeller Page A

bandit leader. “We…”
    “I trust,” said Caina, folding her arms over her chest, the fingers of her right hand tight against the vial, “that you have a good reason for disturbing my progress?”
    “These lands belong to the prophet, my lady, the prophet of great Anubankh,” said Currat, sweat beading on his forehead. He was twice her weight, but her presence unnerved him, which meant he knew the reputation of the Magisterium. “And all travelers must offer a tithe to the god.”
    “No,” said Caina.
    Currat blinked. “But…”
    “Clear the road, now,” said Caina, “or I will unleash my sorcery and destroy you.” 
    “But…but…” said Currat.
    “You had your chance,” said Caina.
    She drew herself up and began babbling nonsense in a stentorian voice, making grand, sweeping gestures. Currat and a few of his men backed away in alarm, and Caina flung out her arms.
    And as she did, she threw the small glass vial.
    It struck the ground before Currat’s boots and shattered with a brilliant green flash. Snarling green flames spread over the flat stones of the road, a venomous yellow smoke rising from the flame. Currat bellowed in alarm and stumbled back, his face gone white with terror. 
    “Rise!” shouted Caina. “Rise, my servants, and slay! Kill them all!”
    That was enough for the bandits. 
    They turned and fled in all directions, vanishing into the trees. The Magisterial Guards watched them go, weapons raised, but none of the bandits returned. 
    The green fire sputtered and died, reeking yellow smoke rising from the glass shards. 
    “What did you do?” said Corvalis.
    “Surely,” said Muravin, gazing with a dubious expression at the smoke, “you have not truly become a sorceress.”
    “Hardly,” said Caina. “Do you remember the formula for the smoke bombs I took from the Sanctuary in Cyrioch?” She doubted he could have forgotten – they had both almost died there, slain by the Kindred Elder and his bloodcrystal-enhanced strength. “I had the apothecary who prepares Theodosia’s stage mist modify it a bit.”
    Muravin snorted. “Ah. You were acting. Like an opera.” 
    “Though with less singing. And I’ve seen you play cards with the footmen at the House of Kularus,” said Caina. “You know the value of a well-timed bluff.” 
    “If you’ve played a bluff,” said Corvalis, “then it’s best to go before someone thinks to call it. We should move on before those bandits regain their courage.”
    Caina hesitated. She considered capturing one of the bandits, and seeing if they knew anything useful about the cult of Anubankh, or how Jurius had gotten into Caer Magia and retrieved a Dustblade. But she dismissed the idea. Likely those men were simply opportunists and not true followers of Anubankh. Otherwise her trick with the smoke bomb would not have rattled them. And the gods alone knew how many more of them waited in the trees.
    She nodded, and they resumed their journey west. 
     
    ###
     
    That night Caina lay in her tent, and Corvalis joined her. 
    He made no effort to do so covertly. There was no point. Among the magi, it was common for a sister of the Magisterium to take the captain of her Magisterial Guards as a lover, so common that dozens of  bawdy songs had been composed on the topic. It annoyed Caina that everyone in the camp knew exactly what they were doing, but not nearly enough to stop her. 
    The fact that it enhanced their disguise was merely a bonus.
    After they finished, Caina climbed off Corvalis, curled up next to him, and fell asleep in short order.
    And once again, she dreamed.
    She walked once again along a seashore cliff, the storm raging above her, the sea heaving and smashing against the rocks. Emerald lighting lit the black sky, the bolts leaping from cloud to cloud. Her mother stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing at the sea with a cold smile on her red lips, her black hair streaming behind her like a shadow. 
    Laeria Amalas turned, the