Ghost in the Ring (Ghost Night Book 1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Caina only raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that, burgomaster?”

  Magur’s expression crumpled. The strain of the last two years had aged him. “No.”

  “Perhaps we can help you,” said Caina.

  Magur scoffed. “No one can help us.”

  “Then there is nothing I can say that will convince you?” said Caina.

  “No.”

  Caina smiled. “What about something I can do?”

  ###

  Caina watched the three leading men of Kostiv.

  They were, for the most part, beaten men. Ivan had some defiance left in him, and she guessed that he wanted to go out fighting. But he was not a fool, and he knew that would be a useless gesture that would get people killed. Magur seemed utterly beaten, crushed by fear of what would befall his daughters in the Boyar’s Hunt.

  Valexis was shocked.

  But, then, telling him in flawless Iramisian that both Iramis and the valikarion of old had returned would have that effect on a man who knew the history of Iramis.

  “Do?” said Magur, his bitterness plain. “What can you do?”

  Caina took a deep breath. What she did next might save all their lives…or lead to the deaths of many innocent people beneath the claws of the mavrokhi.

  Once again, she was playing a deadly game, and these men before her, their families and neighbors and children, they were the stakes in this game.

  “This,” said Caina.

  She raised her right hand with a flourish, turning her palm and pulling up her sleeve to show them that her hand was empty and that she had nothing up her sleeve.

  Magur glared at her, his hands balling as if he wanted to strike her. “What nonsense is this…”

  Caina called her valikon.

  The shards of silver light leaped out of nowhere and assembled themselves into the valikon in a heartbeat, the curved blade of ghostsilver erupting into white flames. Caina saw the flicker of light as Kylon called his own valikon, and she sent a request to her pyrikon. The diadem unfolded itself into her left hand and expanded into the form of its slender staff, the end giving off a white glow. She supposed that was a bit excessive for the point she wanted to make.

  But it worked.

  Magur rocked back with a croaking noise, his eyes bulging. Ivan said several words that Caina supposed he did not use in front of Sophia all that often. Brother Valexis let out a little cry of wonder, his watery eyes wide, his lined face transformed with amazement.

  “What?” managed Magur at last. “What is this?”

  “You know what it is! It is a valikon!” said Valexis, gazing at the sword. His voice shook with powerful emotion, and Caina was surprised to recognize it as joy. “It is one of the holy valikons carried by the Arvaltyri in ancient days when they marched alongside the Warmaiden, when they kept Ulkaar free of necromancy and the demons of the netherworld.”

  “That is impossible,” said Magur. “All the Arvaltyri were slain long ago.”

  “They were,” said Caina, pointing her valikon at him. Magur flinched. “But my name is Caina Amalas Tarshahzon Kardamnos. I went into the netherworld and came out again, and I am a valikarion. I found this sword in the tomb of a Great Necromancer, and I have borne it ever since. I saw Iramis return from the netherworld and rise again, and the valikarion of old returned to the world of the living. How do you think my husband slew Varlov? Why do you think Rudjak fled? The touch of the valikon slew the mavrokh spirit, and Varlov died in his wickedness. Lest they share his fate, Rudjak and the others fled.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Magur kept trembling.

  “Can it be true?” said Magur at last. “Can the valikarion really have returned?”

  “They have,” said Sophia. Caina glanced at the girl. “Burgomaster, it is true. When I fled into the forest, in my terror I ran heedlessly into Sigilsoara itself.”

  “Speak not that evil name!” said Magur.

  “But it is true,” said Sophia. “I saw it with my own eyes. Lady Caina slew one of the Temnoti and its undead soldiers. Together she and Lord Kylon escaped from Sigilsoara. And Lord Kylon killed Vaclav, even after he took his wolf-form! I swear by the Divine it is all true!”

  Valexis began to whisper under his breath. Caina recognized it as a prayer of thanksgiving to the Divine. Tears of joy trickled down his face as he recited the prayer.

  A strange sensation of unreality went through Caina. How had this happened? She had been trained as a spy and a Ghost nightfighter, and spies were supposed to remain invisible, unnoticed.

  And now she stood before the leading men of a town while holding a burning sword. If there was a better way to draw attention, Caina could not think of it.

  She had been a spy, but that path had taken her in a different direction. Now she was the adopted sister of the Padishah of Istarinmul, the Liberator of Iramis, and a valikarion. Caina the Ghost nightfighter would not have been able to help the people of Kostiv.

  But perhaps Caina the valikarion could.

  Or, a dark voice whispered in her head, maybe Caina the valikarion would get them all killed.

  No. Now was not the time to show doubt or weakness.

  “I know what the Boyar’s Hunt is,” said Caina in a quiet voice. “I know what Razdan Nagrach wants to do to your town and your daughters. If you wish it, I will depart and never return. But I can help you. We might be the only people for a thousand miles who can help you.”

  Magur hesitated and looked at the others.

  “Yes,” said Valexis. “It is the will of the Divine. The valikarion have returned at last. Perhaps the shadows shall start to lift from Ulkaar.”

  “By the Divine, let’s fight!” said Ivan. “It’s past time we stood up for ourselves! Perhaps we shall fight alongside the valikarion like the men of Ulkaar did in ancient days. Maybe we’ll all die, aye. But better to die fighting like men than to die quaking in our own sweat and waiting to see who the Hounds of the Iron King will claim next.”

  Magur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then another.

  “So be it,” he said at last. “So be it. If we are to embark upon this folly, then embark upon it we shall. Maybe you will get us all killed. Or maybe you really are an Arvaltyr. What would you have of us?”

  “Just one thing,” said Caina, lowering her hand and dismissing her valikon. Her pyrikon settled back into its bracelet form upon her wrist. “I need you to send a message to the boyar’s castle right now.”

  “A message?” said Magur with a frown.

  “Yes.” Caina smiled. “I’d like to invite the boyar to dine with me.”

  Chapter 14: No Interruptions

  They had indeed, Kylon reflected, set the storm among the fleet. Or the fox among the chickens.

  But regardless of the metaphor, they had stirred up the town of Kostiv.

  Kylon had visited countless small fishing villages near New Kyre and its colonies on the islands of the western sea, and he knew how small towns worked. Likely most of the families of Kostiv were all related to one another to some degree, and that meant gossip traveled faster than the wind itself.

  Caina had claimed most of the upper floor of the White Boar for her plan. From the common room, a flight of stairs led up to a wooden balcony overlooking the lower level, and Kylon stationed himself at the top of the stairs to keep watch as Caina and Sophia prepared with the help of Rachov’s family. The emotions of the people of the town had been roused enough that Kylon sensed them without even trying. Before, an aura of sullen fear had hung over the town. Caina’s arrival and her little demonstration had ignited the emotions of Kostiv like a torch thrown into a vat of oil. Kylon sensed wild hope and terror from the townspeople, mixed with a bit of awe.

  Their reactions had been almost religious.

  Come to think of it, their reactions had been religious. The Warmaiden might have introduced Ulkaar to the Iramisian faith of the Divine, but the valikarion had been wrapped up in her legend. Sophia had not been the only
child in Ulkaar raised on tales of the mighty Arvaltyri of old. The thought that one of the Arvaltyri might have returned to deliver them from the cruel boyar had set off a wild elation in the people of Kostiv.

  But a great deal of fear tempered that elation. And Kylon knew that a terrified townsman might try to stave off Razdan Nagrach’s fury by killing the so-called valikarion and presenting her head to the boyar.

  So, just in case, Kylon stood guard at the top of the stairs and watched the common room, his hand resting on the saber’s jeweled hilt. For now, he kept his valikon dismissed. Caina had said they should only summon the weapons at need, given the effect their appearance had on the Ulkaari, and Kylon agreed with that assessment.

  A crowd filled the common room of the White Boar, ostensibly to drink, but Kylon heard the low murmur of conversation. He couldn’t understand their language, but he knew they were speculating about Caina, about whether or not she was really a valikarion. None of them climbed the stairs to see for themselves. Kylon was amused that he was intimidating enough to keep them at bay even without the valikon in hand.

  The door to the market opened, and Sebastian Scorneus stepped inside, a gust of cold wind following him. At once silence fell, and the townsmen stared at him. The valikarion might have passed into legend, but the black-armored battle magi were very real and often very dangerous. Seb paid no heed to the stares, strode to the counter, and purchased two cups of beer from Rachov.

  Then he climbed up the stairs, stood next to Kylon, and passed him one of the cups.

  “I have spent half my life on guard duty,” said Seb, “and by all the gods, it is thirsty work.”

  “Not as thirsty as some tasks,” said Kylon. He took a drink of the beer. “Thank you.” The Ulkaari beer was so thick it was almost like drinking a loaf of fermented bread.

  “The messenger is off to the boyar’s castle,” said Seb. He took a drink of his own beer. “Magur and Ivan think that the boyar should arrive at the town tomorrow by noon.”

  “He’ll ride at once,” said Kylon, watching the townsmen. “He won’t have any choice. It’s too much of a challenge to his authority. First, we killed one of his men, and then he received an invitation from another noble in his own town? Caina thinks Razdan has too much pride in being a noble to refuse the invitation, so he’ll come.”

  “And then?” said Seb.

  Kylon shrugged. “And then we’ll see what happens.” He was reasonably sure this confrontation was going to end in a fight. If so, the town of Kostiv would be a far better battlefield than the forest. The mavrokhi were fast and strong, but the narrow streets and alleys would limit their speed.

  Of course, Razdan Nagrach had to know that as well.

  “Lady Caina seems quite confident in her assessment of a man she has never met,” said Seb.

  “She’s usually right about that kind of thing,” said Kylon. “She spent all that time talking to Magur and Valexis and Ivan about him, and they probably know the boyar better than anyone in Kostiv.” He looked at the battle magus. “And you don’t disagree with her. You think in the same sideways manner that she does, and you agree with her opinion of Nagrach.”

  Seb blinked in confusion and then laughed. “Is it that obvious? Yes, I think she is correct. Obviously, Razdan Nagrach is a young man newly come to a great deal of power, both as the new boyar and as a new mavrokh. He’s insecure in that power and wishes to prove it, both to himself and to his subjects.” His cold blue eyes took on the same distant cast that Caina’s did when she was thinking. “Else why reinstitute the Boyar’s Hunt? It is a wasteful and violent exercise of power that will only alienate the townsfolk from him and make the task of government more difficult. A young man’s folly.”

  “Or that of a man who enjoys cruelty,” said Kylon, thinking of the Red Huntress. Perhaps the mavrokhi fed upon pain in the same way that the nagataaru did.

  “Alas, both men who love cruelty and foolish young men are all too common,” said Seb. He looked away, and a flicker of old pain went through his emotional sense. “Men and women both.” His gaze turned back to Kylon. “I wish to ask you a question.”

  Kylon snorted. “Can’t you simply deduce the answer?”

  “I suppose I could, but your reaction will be informative. Since we shall likely be fighting alongside each other tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, it would be useful to know.”

  Kylon inclined his head.

  “Does taking orders from your wife annoy you?” said Seb.

  Kylon burst out laughing. Some of the townsmen turned surprised looks in his direction. Kylon supposed the laughter would detract from his image as a grim warrior.

  “She doesn’t tell me what to do,” said Kylon.

  Seb hesitated and then smiled. “Then you have done a very good job of fooling me.”

  Kylon shrugged. “She’s right, most of the time. If I think she’s right, I’ll do what she wants, and if I think she’s wrong, I’ll change her mind. I trust her completely.” He thought back. “I suppose I trusted her even before I loved her.”

  “Then you married for love?” said Seb. There was an odd note in his voice.

  “I’m an exiled Kyracian noble, and she is, or was, a Ghost nightfighter and circlemaster,” said Kylon. “People like us don’t marry except for love.” An insight occurred to him. “What about you? You married for love, didn’t you?”

  Seb blinked in surprise.

  “Ah,” said Kylon. “That’s another way you two are similar. Caina never likes it when people figure things out about her, and neither do you.”

  “How did you guess?” said Seb.

  “Caina’s smarter than I am,” said Kylon, “and you probably are too, but I’m not an idiot.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “I was,” said Seb. “Married for love, I mean.”

  Kylon nodded. “She died?”

  “Yes,” said Seb. “You will understand if I do not wish to discuss the matter further.”

  “I do,” said Kylon. “Better than you think, probably. I was married before Caina. My first wife was assassinated.”

  They lapsed into silence. Kylon took another drink of his beer. He would have preferred Kyracian wine, but the White Boar’s beer was good, at least as beer went.

  “Might I confess something to you, Lord Kylon?” said Seb.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

  Seb smiled. “Ha! A true answer. The Ulkaari have a proverb that an honest answer is like a kiss on the lips.”

  “The Iramisians have the same proverb,” said Kylon, “but if you try to kiss me, I’m not going to react well.”

  Seb laughed at that. “Another honest answer! But I wish only to confess this.” He waved a hand at the room. “When I was a child, I wanted to be a valikarion.”

  Kylon blinked. “I think you mentioned that in the forest.”

  “Yes, but not the extent of it,” said Seb. “My sister Calvia and I were raised by Talmania Scorneus and Ariadne Scorneus after our mother abandoned us. Well, at least by Talmania’s servants, anyway. Talmania herself had little interest in us. She wanted to raise us to be her…vassals, essentially, her supporters in the Magisterium when we became full magi.”

  Kylon nodded. “Like Decius Aberon the First Magus does with his bastard children.”

  “Precisely,” said Seb. “I fear the arrangement is quite common for more powerful magi. Anyway, thankfully I spent more time with my tutors than with Aunt Talmania herself. The lessons in swordplay and history were my favorites…and I confess I loved the stories of the valikarion, the Arvaltyri of ancient days. I wanted to be a valikarion. I wanted to be a heroic knight who rode into the village and slew the wicked monsters that terrorized the people.”

  “I thought something similar,” said Kylon. “I wanted to be a strong and just Kyracian lord, a defender of the Kyracian people.” He supposed he had become something like that, at least for a time of his life. And now he was…what, exactly? A landless exile
wed to the Liberator of Iramis?

  Of course, at the moment they were both landless exiles in Ulkaar.

  The idea did not trouble him. The Surge had given him a chance to return to New Kyre, and he had turned it down to stay with Caina. A flicker of old irritation went through him at the thought. What had the oracle been thinking, asking him to return to New Kyre without Caina? Surely, she had known he would refuse.

  Damned oracles.

  “But I grew up,” said Seb, “and I found that there were no valikarion. And, truth be told, no heroes. I thought being a battle magus would be the closest I could come to a valikarion, but I rarely spent any time hunting down creatures of sorcery. Instead, I fought in the Empire’s wars, first against the Kyracians and the Istarish and then against the Umbarians.”

  “I lost many illusions in war as well,” said Kylon. When he had gone to Marsis with Andromache, he had been certain of his place in the world and confident in his sister.

  Then everything had changed.

  “To see all this,” said Seb, “is unsettling.”

  “What do you mean?” said Kylon, though he thought he knew.

  “Your wife claims to be a valikarion,” started Seb.

  “She is a valikarion,” said Kylon. “I was there. It happened by accident, but she is a valikarion. You know that as well as I do. She can see spells, and you can’t sense her with any spells.”

  “She is a valikarion,” conceded Seb, “but is she ready to be one?”

  “What do you mean?” said Kylon.

  “Look at these people,” said Seb, lowering his voice. “They want to believe. They want to believe that a valikarion has shown up to save them from the mavrokhi, that they won’t have to hand their daughters over to the boyar. Some of them think that if they just placate Razdan Nagrach, he’ll leave them alone, but the wiser ones know better. Maybe next year the boyar will call another Hunt. Or maybe once this year’s harvest is complete, even. But maybe a valikarion can save them from all of that.”