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

home to the craftsmen and artisans of Caeria Ulterior…and to the tomb robbers and adventurers who scoured the province looking for long-buried treasures. 
    Beyond the town, atop a higher hill, rose the black mass of Caer Magia.
    The city’s walls had been built of the same spell-fashioned black stone the magi used in all their construction. Beyond the wall she saw towers, their domes cracked and crumbling, and the roofs of massive basilicas. Once Caer Magia had housed over a hundred thousand people, the slaves and servants and guards of the Magisterium.
    Now it was silent. 
    “That…fence, that embankment,” said Muravin, “around the base of the hill. What is that?”
    A ring of standing stones, standing atop a raised embankment of earth, encircled the base of Caer Magia’s hill. The standing stones did not look nearly as weathered as the others Caina had seen. 
    “It’s called the Henge,” said Caina. “The magi built it to overawe the Caers when they first constructed Caer Magia. Anything beyond it was the domain of the magi. Now it marks the boundaries of whatever spell kills anything within Caer Magia.”
    She looked at the hillside and the crumbling road leading to Caer Magia’s gates, doing arithmetic in her head. Seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats, and Caina suspected a man would use at least half of those climbing from the Henge to Caer Magia’s gates. So how had Jurius gotten out of the city with a Dustblade before the old sorcery had killed him?
    A spell, perhaps, or some sort of talisman, something that had shielded him from the effects of Caer Magia…
    “And it looks,” said Corvalis, “like someone is trying to tunnel under the Henge.”
    A pair of camps squatted below the Henge, one on either side of Caer Magia. Both camps held several hundred men and dozens of tents, armed mercenaries standing guard. Laborers toiled in each camp, and Caina saw men digging and hauling away baskets of dirt.
    Murvain grunted. “It looks as if they are trying to tunnel under the Henge.” 
    “That would be useless,” said Caina. “The magi tried that, after the end of the Fourth Empire. Anyone under Caer Magia dies after seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats.”
    “Then,” said Corvalis, “perhaps they are looking for something else.” He shrugged. “Maybe they found a Dustblade buried in the field outside of the walls. There have been battles at Calvarium.”
    “Nine, if I remember correctly,” said Caina. “But Jurius was a fanatic. He was sure Anubankh would overthrow the Empire and Maat would rise again. Those men do not look like mad fanatics of a forgotten god.”
    “Perhaps they’re merely hirelings,” said Corvalis. “The armed men have the look of mercenaries.” 
    “Or there is more going on here than a cult devoted to Anubankh,” said Caina. “We need to find out more.” 
    “Best you return to the carriage, mistress,” said Corvalis, resuming the formal manner of a captain of Magisterial Guards. “We’re approaching the town’s gates, and you need to enter with all the proper dignity of a sister of the Magisterium.”
    “Agreed,” said Caina, climbing into the carriage. “Oh, don’t touch the skulls.”
    “Skulls?” said Muravin. “What skulls?”
    “The ancient Caers,” said Caina, “believed that the soul resided in the skull. So they took skulls as trophies, adorned their homes and tombs and shrines with skulls. The Caers have turned away from their old ways…but the skulls are still sacred, and it is a crime to touch one.”
    “Morbid folk,” muttered Murvain. 
    Caina closed the door, and the men began to climb up the road to the southern gate of Calvarium. She saw men standing upon the walls in the tabards of local militia, crossbows ready. The town looked prepared for an attack. Had the two mercenary camps made trouble? 
    Or perhaps whatever prophet of Anubankh haunted the hills of Caeria Ulterior had tried to lead his followers against