Ghost Rage, Episode 12a- Vote Now!
You decide to ask for Lucan Maraeus’s help.
Of course, there’s the small matter of getting to Lucan first; you can hardly have Moresti walk across the city carrying an unconscious noblewoman in his arms. People might get curious. In the end, you wind up stealing a wagon and concealing Lady Chrysana beneath a blanket.
Fortunately, you don’t have to go far. Lucan’s father, Lord Corbould Maraeus, is one of the most powerful lords in the Empire, and his “townhouse” is a sprawling pile of marble, nearly twelve stories tall, covered in statuary and reliefs, surrounded by gardens and fountains and rippling ponds.
The guards at the gates stop you, giving you suspicious looks.
“Aye,” you say, keeping your voice disguised. “We’re couriers, and we’ve a delivery for Lord Lucan. And we’re to give it to him, and no one else.”
It takes some convincing, but at last one of the guards goes into the mansion, and returns with Lucan in tow. He’s a fit man in his middle thirties, rather expensively dressed, with a sword at his belt. He looks like a handsome, wealthy idler, except for his eyes, which are hard and cold.
Rather like your own, you suppose.
He stares at you for a moment, frowning, and then smiles as he recognizes you.
“Countess,” he murmurs in High Nighmarian. “I would kiss your hand, but since you’re dressed as a man, I suspect the guards would take it amiss.”
“I’ll forgive it, this once,” you say. “It’s also a poor idea to kiss a woman carrying a sword.”
Moresti looks at you, at Lucan, back at you, and then snickers.
“But what is life without a little risk?” says Lucan, glancing over the wagon. “Now this should be interesting. You turn up disguised as a mercenary, accompanied by Szaldic man with,” his eyes narrow a bit, “with a ward against a mavrokh on his face.”
You lift the blanket just enough to show Chrysana’s face.
Lucan stares at her for a moment, then turns to the guards. “Let them through.”
A short time later you are in the sitting room of Lucan’s apartments, Moresti laying Chrysana down on a couch. You tell Lucan (in Kyracian) everything that’s happened; Julian Trimogena’s murder, Cenorix’s betrayal and Korthion’s attack, and the horrible death of the maid at Lord Karbonos’s townhouse.
“So,” you say, “what is a mavrokh?”
“A bad thing,” says Lucan.
“Moresti already said that. Be more specific.”
Lucan frowns. “It’s…a spirit of rage, for lack of a better word. Of fury, of vengeance. Rare, but extremely dangerous. When they attack, they’ll rip a victim apart, like you saw with Trimogena and the maid. They’re invisible, and can only be seen by their victims in the moment before death. And only sorcery, silver weapons, or specific warding symbols can harm them.” He gestures at Moresti. “It’s just as well you found your new friend when you did. If you hadn’t, the mavrokh would have killed Chrysana, and you could have done nothing to stop it.”
Moresti beams. “Moresti is reliable mercenary!”
“So what is a mavrokh doing in Malarae?” you say.
“I don’t know,” says Lucan. “They’re only found in Varia Province, in the deep woods of the Szaldic homeland. Even there, they will only attack mortals if they’re first disturbed.” He shakes his head. “And a mavrokh, as far as I know, has never been seen east of the Marentine River. Certainly not as far east as the Imperial capital.”
“And why would it attack Julian Trimogena and his betrothed?” you say.
“A good question,” says Lucan. “When mavrokh do attack mortals, they strike at random. Indiscriminately. They’ll sometimes wipe out an entire family, but only if the entire family is in one place. For a mavrokh to kill a man, then to stalk his betrothed across a city the size of Malarae, that is very strange.”
You think for a moment. “Could a sorcerer command a mavrokh?”
“Almost certainly,” says Lucan. “But the only ones who knew the spells were the solomonari, the old priest-magicians of the ancient Szalds, and they’ve been extinct for centuries. I doubt anyone in the Magisterium could manage to control a mavrokh.”
You nod, thinking. You doubt the mavrokh is striking at random. Someone, or something, must be controlling it. But who? And why?
“Do you have something that could wake her up?” you say, pointing at Chrysana.
“Maybe,” says Lucan. “But this sleep…she’s recovering from the psychic effects of the mavrokh’s attack. It would be best if she comes out of it on her own, which should take a day or two. If we wake her up too soon, she might suffer from memory loss. Or go insane.”
Then Lucan’s eyes widen, and he snaps his fingers.
“Wait,” he said. “You said Julian only became betrothed to Chrysana in the last week?”
You nod.
“He was engaged before that, for years,” said Lucan. “I met him when I was last in Varia Province, about five years ago. He was stationed there, as a tribune in the Ninth Legion. And he was betrothed to…Amania, that was it. Amania Rhazion.”
You blink. “Rhazion? As in the daughter of Septimus Rhazion? The preceptor of the Magisterium chapterhouse.”
“The same,” said Lucan.
And that would mean that Septimus Rhazion, a master magus, spent time in Varia Province. Where he would have had the opportunity to find a mavrokh, to study it…
…and perhaps learn to control it.
“Magi,” rumbles Moresti, “are ill news.” Again he uses the Szaldic term to describe a man who enjoys unnatural acts of congress with sheep.
“Ah…wisely spoken,” says Lucan.
“Do you know why they ended the betrothal?” you say.
Lucan shrugs. “No. I thought Julian was a vain idiot, and didn’t bother to stay in touch. I assumed he had married Amania years ago.”
You think it through, and once again you need more information. The Ghosts have a contact in the Magisterium chapterhouse, a traitor magus named Morlaine, who could give you more information about Septimus Rhazion and his daughter. However, contacting the Morlaine would involve some risk, both to you and to him.
It’s also possible that Chrysana Karbonos knows everything you need to know. Assuming that she doesn’t go insane when she wakes up, of course.
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