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The pair of ghosts nearest them, at the borders of the blast, re-formed the quickest. Dougal stabbed each of the ghosts right through the chest. After they retreated out of the reach of his blade, Dougal reached down and grabbed the panicked asura by the back of his collar. Then he turned and sprinted straight up the steps, dragging Kranxx along with him.

The staircase ascended forever, and Dougal could see Riona and Ember ahead, climbing the steep steps as fast as they could. Beneath him he could hear the entire city howl; looking down, he could see ghosts spilling from every doorway and trying to force themselves up the stairs behind them.

Dougal, bringing the still-frantic Kranxx along with him, dove through the wide-open doors at the top of the stairs, bursting into what his ancient map said were the royal chambers. They landed in a tangled ball in the center of the main chamber, and before Dougal could pull himself free, Ember and Riona grabbed them both and dragged them behind a tattered dressing screen that cut off the back half of the room from the front.

Dougal started to ask what was going on, but Ember clamped a hand over his mouth while Riona muzzled Kranxx. Dougal’s eyes darted around and spotted a ghost standing right over them.

He cursed himself for believing that the city’s soldiers would not follow them in here. Yet, a ghost stood there staring at him with a kind and gentle face.

The unexpected face stopped Dougal cold. The look in the ghost’s eyes was not maddened or vicious. This ghost looked … sad.

Rather than armor, this ghost wore the rich and elegant clothes of a royal courtier. He was balding and potbellied, and his eyes bore the weight of having seen far too many things for too damned long. He carried no weapon—other than the handle of a ghostly knife still jutting from the wound in his chest.

Riona raised her blade, but Dougal held up a hand to stop her. Mortals and ghost viewed each other, and Dougal found his voice.

“Savione,” he said. “You’re the king’s servant, Savione.”

The ghost in ornate dress frowned and sniffed. “Chief courtier, thank you,” said the ghost. “But I am Savione. And it is about time you got here. Or someone like you.”

From the doorway near the head of the stairs, there arose the racket of the approaching mob. The ghost of Savione turned and walked back through the dressing screen, disturbing it less than a gentle breeze. Dougal could no longer see him, but the courtier’s voice carried throughout the room.

“How dare you burst into the king’s private quarters unannounced ?” Savione said, his voice commanding and firm.

The ghost soldiers chanted at him, “There are invaders! We must protect Ascalon! We must protect the king!”

Savione scoffed at them. “I have been in these chambers this entire day, and have seen no brigands, no raiders, and no bandits. Off with you!”

The ghosts’ voices became more subdued and confused. “We saw invaders!” said one, but they were unsure of themselves now.

Savione did not raise his voice, but his words dripped with menace. “Leave now, or I shall summon His Majesty, our great King Adelbern, to deal with your intrusion personally. Do not tarry, but hunt your invaders elsewhere.”

The ghosts were cowed by the invoking of the king’s name, then encouraged by the idea that the invaders were still at large somewhere else in the city. The soldiers’ chanting faded as they left the chambers and went off in search of prey someplace outside the king’s private rooms.

The ghost poked his head through the screen. “I believe it’s safe to speak now,” he said as he emerged wholly before the others. “Their dedication to the king is nearly as mindless as their bloodlust, and I can confuse them easily.”

Dougal got to his feet and stared at the ghost, stunned to see that something of the man had survived for so long.

“See,” Ember said, elbowing Dougal in the shoulder. “Fireburn was right. Savione.”

The courtier didn’t smile—he frowned less—but it had the same effect. To Dougal