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Ghost Undying
    “I will pay you a considerable sum to kill her,” said Maglarion.
    Sicarion leaned back in his chair, sipped his wine, and grinned. “You’ve changed.”
    They sat together in the common room of an inn not far from Malarae’s chapterhouse of the Imperial Magisterium. Magi visiting from other cities and provinces of the Empire often stayed here when they wished to avoid the chapterhouse for whatever reason.
    Such as the recent upheaval, for instance. 
    The great weapon at Caer Magia had failed, destroying the First Magus, the high magi, and many of the most powerful master magi. The remaining magi of the Magisterium had fractured into squabbling factions, and many rumors claimed that the Emperor and the Ghosts would seize control of the Empire once more. 
    Sicarion hardly cared who ruled the Empire.
    But he cared about killing…and the impending civil war offered so many opportunities for it. 
    “How so?” said Maglarion.
    Sicarion looked at the older man and grinned. In truth, Maglarion looked only a little older than when Sicarion had last seen him thirty years ago. He had same thin, lined face, the same graying black hair, the same lips forever tight with arrogant disapproval. 
    The bloodcrystal that had replaced his left eye was different, though.
    “Still tedious as ever,” said Sicarion, taking another sip of wine. He took a moment to run a hand through his thick blond hair and adjust the hang of his fine red coat. 
    Maglarion’s scowl deepened. “You ought to take greater care around me, assassin. My sorcery is far greater than yours. And I have lived for two hundred and fifty years…”
    Sicarion clucked his tongue. “And if you keep making threats, you might not reach your two hundred and fifty-first year. I’ve gotten very good at killing magi.” 
    “I am,” said Maglarion, “no ordinary magus.”
    He was right about that. Sicarion did not want to push him too far. 
    “And since I am very good at killing magi,” said Sicarion, “I assume that is why you are here?”
    “You are a murderous little madman,” said Maglarion, “and were I still in the Magisterium, I would have had you executed decades ago, but you were always perceptive.”
    Sicarion grinned. “Such flattery. Who is it?”
    “My former teacher,” said Maglarion. 
    Sicarion raised his eyebrows. “Her? The mysterious sorceress who lured you away from the Magisterium? You’ve turned your back on your lover?”
    To his surprise, Maglarion threw back his head and laughed.
    “Lover?” he said. “Hardly. She loves nothing but her own rage, and that is endless.”
    “I am intrigued, I confess,” said Sicarion. “Why turn on her?”
    “Because the world is changing,” said Maglarion. “The strongest magi perished at Caer Magia, and the Emperor shall soon reunite the Empire. The Fourth Empire will end, and the Fifth shall begin. With the strongest magi slain, the remnants of the Magisterium will not be able to stop the Emperor from banning necromancy and slavery.” His smile was grim. “For those of us who have used necromancy to extend our lives, better to keep a low profile.”
    “Why?” said Sicarion. “Your mistress has power enough to resist anyone.”
    “Because the time has come to end my association with her,” said Maglarion. “I wish to live forever. She wishes to destroy the world. The two goals are not compatible.”
    “Destroy the world?” said Sicarion with a laugh. “Not even the high magi had the power to destroy the world, and they destroyed themselves. Does she truly believe herself to be,” he thought for a moment, recalling the foreign word, “the Moroaica?”
    “She does not believe it,” said Maglarion. “She is the Moroaica.”
    “Nonsense,” said Sicarion. “That’s a legend of the Szaldic slaves. Have you met any Szalds? Superstitious idiots, the lot of them. Every bad crop, every jug of spoiled milk, every little misfortune is the work of some malicious