The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Then we must act quickly,” said Rezir. “Fortune favors the bold, and the greatest prize goes to he who dares the most.”

  “Or the bold make their own fortunes,” said Andromache. “But I agree. We must strike swiftly. Did you capture Lord Corbould?”

  Rezir scowled, and Kylon sensed a flash of anger from him. “I do not know. The battle of the Market was…chaotic. He might well lie among the slain. Or he might have escaped. I have promised a thousand golden coins to the man who brings me his head, but he has yet to be found.”

  “No matter,” said Andromache. “We must crush any point around which resistance could organize. Lord Corbould is one such point, if he still lives. The second point is the city’s chapter of the Imperial Magisterium. If the magi unleash their arcane sciences upon us, we will be undone."

  "What do you propose?" said Rezir.

  The scarred man kept staring at Andromache. Kylon found his attention inappropriate, but neither Andromache nor Rezir moved to rebuke him.

  "We must seize the city's gates as soon as possible," said Andromache. "Two of Marsis’s three Legions are north of the city, lured out by our ruses. Almost certainly those Legions have begun marching back to the city. When those Legions return, they must see the walls lined with Istarish infantry and Kyracian ashtairoi."

  "A sound plan," said Rezir. "I shall strike hard and fast, before Lord Corbould or any surviving leaders can rally resistance. Once I seize the Plaza of the Tower, we shall have a solid base to assault the northern gate."

  "And I," said Andromache, "shall deal with the magi."

  Rezir frowned. "By yourself, honored Archon? My spies reported that the Magisterium chapterhouse housed at least a dozen master magi, if not more."

  For the first time, a hint of a smile appeared on Andromache's stern face. "You saw what befell the Citadel's siege engines, did you not? And you felt the wind that blew my fleet into the harbor?"

  Again Kylon sensed that flicker of fear from Rezir. And as well he should fear. Andromache had performed mighty feats of sorcery, exertions that should have left her exhausted for weeks. Yet she did not seem tired, or even discomforted.

  "Yes," said Rezir. “If you say you can deal with the magi, then I have no doubts about their fate."

  "Good," said Andromache. "One other matter. These captives, Rezir. So many, so soon?"

  Rezir shrugged. "My men are entitled to their spoils."

  "You speak truly," said Andromache. "And so many men devoted to guarding your spoils drains strength away from our main force."

  "I have not lost that much strength," said Rezir. He sneered at the rows of captives. "The people of the Empire are sheep. Their peasants are nothing more than the descendants of escaped slaves. I need only detail a few of my men to keep order, the older and the wounded. They can keep these cattle under control easily enough."

  "As you say," said Andromache. "My men require a portion of the spoils, in recompense for their valor."

  A flash of rage went through Rezir's sense, but his face remained calm. "That seems only fair. How much?"

  "Fifteen percent," said Andromache. "I shall send an emissary to select the appropriate slaves."

  Rezir looked puzzled for a moment, and then bowed. "Fifteen percent is...generous, honored Archon. Very well. I agree."

  "Good," said Andromache. "We have a great deal of work to do. I suggest we begin at once."

  "As you say," said Rezir.

  Again he bowed, and began shouting orders to his men. His bodyguard of Immortals followed, leaving Kylon alone with Andromache, her bodyguards, and Kleistheon.

  And the strange man with the scarred face.

  Kleistheon scowled at him. "Be off, churl, and follow your master. This is not your concern."

  The scarred man lifted his head. Kylon saw that his left eye was green, while the right was an odd shade of yellow-orange, almost like molten sulfur.

  "My mistress is not here, good sir," he said in a raspy voice. "Though she is in the city. Just not in the Market with these fine fellows."

  Kleistheon scowled and reached for his sword, but Andromache's voice cracked like a whip. "Sicarion! Enough."

  "As you wish," said the man called Sicarion, bowing his scarred face.

  "You know him?" said Kylon, surprised.

  "So I do," said Andromache. "As he said, I am not his mistress. But he served well as my emissary to Rezir Shahan. And he will continue to serve me well."

  Sicarion bowed. "Because my mistress wished it, good lady."

  "I will have instructions for you soon," said Andromache. Her brown eyes fell upon Kylon. "But you, brother. I heard of how you fought upon the quays, how you drove the Legionaries before you. Well done. You are the pillar of House Kardamnos's strength."

  "Thank you, sister," Kylon said. For a moment his doubts vanished. She was right. They could do it, they could seize Marsis and hold it before the Emperor's Legions returned to retake the city.

  But the nagging doubts returned after a moment.

  "Kleistheon," said Andromache. "We must deal with the magi at once. Their chapterhouse stands at the edge of the city's wealthy district, south of the Plaza of the Tower. Order four thousand of our ashtairoi to join Rezir in his attack. The remaining thousand will accompany me to the Magisterium's chapterhouse."

  "As you command, High Seat," said Kleistheon. "Who shall have the command?"

  "Choose a worthy polemarch," said Andromache.

  "What of me?" said Kylon.

  "You, brother, shall accompany me to the Magisterium's chapterhouse," said Andromache. Again that ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "I would have no one else to guard my back."

  "I am pleased," said Kylon.

  "Kleistheon," said Andromache. "Go select a polemarch and gather the ashtairoi, and return swiftly."

  "So I shall," said Kleistheon. He bowed once more and departed, leaving Kylon with Andromache and Sicarion.

  "Tell me, brother," said Andromache. "What do you think of our most honorable lord emir?"

  Kylon hesitated, glancing at Sicarion.

  "Do not mind him," said Andromache. "As he said, his loyalty does not belong to Rezir Shahan."

  "I don't even like the emir," said Sicarion, and his yellow teeth flashed in a grin. "He smells bad. Too much onion in his diet."

  "The man is a snake," said Kylon. "He will turn on us in a moment if we show any hint of weakness. Or if he thinks he can gain advantage over us. I suspect if we succeed in taking Marsis, Rezir will try to seize it for Istarinmul, and bar New Kyre from the port. Or he may rebel entirely from the Padishah, and declare himself king in Marsis."

  "You are wise, brother," said Andromache, "for that was my assessment of Rezir Shahan. A most dangerous man."

  "Then why have we allied ourselves with him?" said Kylon.

  "Because he is a tool, and nothing more," said Andromache. "A tool we shall use to greater ends. Trust me, brother. The fall of Marsis is but the first step. What we do here will raise House Kardamnos to unassailable power, and make New Kyre first among the nations."

  Kylon nodded. He still had doubts. But if anyone could fulfill such an audacious vision, it was Andromache, the High Seat of House Kardamnos and Archon of New Kyre.

  "Which brings us," said Andromache, turning to Sicarion, "to your task."

  Sicarion gazed at her, his mismatched gaze unblinking.

  "Find the Moroaica," said Andromache, "and tell her that I have arrived."

  Chapter 6 - Hunters

  The dead sorceress watched Caina.

  Marsis burned around them. Flames leapt from the warehouses, their roofs collapsing in plumes of smoke and cinders. The fires raced through the Plaza of the Tower, devouring the mansions and the temples. Even the Citadel itself stood wreathed in flames, Black Angel Tower wrapped in dark smoke.

  Caina stepped toward the dead sorceress. Jadriga wore a simple crimson robe, belted around her waist, her hair falling in damp curls around her pale neck. On her h
ands and wrists Caina saw swirling black tattoos, the intricate warding sigils Jadriga had worn during her most powerful rituals.

  "You should have listened to me," said the Moroaica.

  Caina shook her head. "No. You're dead. I killed you myself.

  A faint smile crossed Jadriga's red lips. "You did. Yet you should have heeded me. You should have prepared yourself for what now comes to devour you."

  "No," said Caina. “This is only a nightmare. A..." What was the phrase Halfdan always used? "A scar upon my mind."

  "Of course," said Jadriga. "And now a second warning for you, child of the Ghosts. My servants are coming for you. Prepare yourself to face them."

  The world dissolved into blackness.

  ###

  Caina awoke to pain.

  She began coughing, her chest aching. The ground dug into her back and legs as her muscles shifted. Her eyes opened, and she saw something dark and thick leaning over her. A wooden beam, torn from the roof of a tenement.

  Memories swam to the surface of her mind. A lightning bolt screaming out of the sky. Walking with Nicolai. An ornate procession led by a hard-face man in gilded armor, a crimson banner flying overhead. The screams...

  Nicolai!

  Caina sat up, ignoring the ache in her limbs.

  She was still in the tenement's courtyard, though the stormsinger's deflected lightning had ripped the tenement to shreds and set the neighboring buildings aflame. The blast had flung Caina against the far wall, beneath some beams that had fallen at an angle. It was only the sheerest luck that she had not been killed or crippled.

  Caina staggered to her feet, noticing the half-dried blood on her hands and sleeves. Not hers. She remembered the fight with the Istarish soldiers and the black-armored Immortal in his skull helmet.

  What had happened to Nicolai?

  She looked around, terrified that she would see his crushed body beneath the rubble. But there was no sign of him. Had he run for help? Or...

  No.

  She remembered hearing Istarish soldiers as she lay half-stunned. They had found Nicolai and carried him off. The beams must have obscured Caina from their view. Or if they had seen her, they assumed she was dead. She certainly looked the part, with her green dress ripped and dirty and stained with blood.

  The slavers had taken Nicolai.

  Caina cursed in fury. Ark had spent five years trying to find Nicolai. He and Tanya had trusted Caina with their son. And now Nicolai was in the hands of slave traders. And it was Caina's fault, Caina's folly...

  She shoved aside the emotions, her mind turning cold and focused.

  She had to get Nicolai back. But useless recrimination would accomplish nothing. Action would achieve more. Caina was a nightfighter of the Ghosts, trained in disguise and stealth. She had the tools to get Nicolai back.

  If she only had the wit to use them.

  She took a tentative step, and when she did not fall, took a few more. She had to get moving. Yet despite her skills and training, she was a lone woman wearing a tattered dress in a city full of slavers. If the Istarish found her, she would very quickly find herself wearing chains. She needed a way to move unnoticed through the enemy.

  A disguise, then.

  The black-armored Immortal caught Caina's eye, but his armor was too large, too heavy. Instead she looked at one of the dead Istarish soldiers.

  Caina dragged the corpse into a doorway.

  A moment later she emerged clad in the soldier's clothing, armor, and helmet, his scimitar at her belt and his shield on her back. She kept the daggers in her boots and her throwing knives and ghostsilver dagger in her belt. She left the courtyard, striding down the alley.

  A plan formed in her mind. First, she needed to assess the situation. Find how many troops the treacherous Rezir Shahan had brought to Marsis. Then she would discern where the Istarish had taken their captives. Once she knew, she would steal Nicolai away and retreat to Zorgi's Inn. Then she could return Nicolai to Ark and Tanya, and inform Halfdan of what she had found. Caina hoped he would know what to do. The Ghosts were spies and assassins, not soldiers. Yet as spies, they had failed miserably. Rezir had somehow smuggled thousands of his soldiers into the city, using them in his treacherous attack. And the Kyracian fleet had stormed into the harbor unawares.

  She turned a corner and ran into a patrol.

  Four Istarish soldiers watched the alley with narrowed eyes, hands on their sword hilts. A man with the knots of an Istarish officer, a khalmir, on his shoulder looked Caina over. For an agonized half-second Caina wondered if the khalmir would see through her disguise. She had rubbed dirt across her face, and hidden her hair beneath the spiked helmet, but if he realized she was a woman...

  "You," he said in Istarish. "What are you doing?"

  Caina understood Istarish, but she had never managed to speak it without a noticeable Caerish accent. Hopefully the officer would not notice.

  "Orders," she said, keeping her voice gruff. "A courier. Taking the emir's commands to the men holding the warehouses."

  The khalmir frowned. "Your orders are out of date. The emir has commanded his men to gather in the Great Market as soon as possible. His eyes narrowed. "Unless you were planning to desert, hmm? The emir takes a dim opinion of deserters."

  "No, sir," said Caina. "No, I'm loyal. But my orders..."

  "Are no longer relevant," said the khalmir. "The emir has commanded, and we shall obey." His hand tightened around his scimitar's hilt. "Unless you intend to disobey?"

  "No, sir," said Caina, keeping her voice calm, but she cursed herself. This had not been in the plan. But she would attract less notice among a group than she would on her own. And marching with these men would give her a good look at the Istarish force.

  She could always slip away later.

  "Come," said the khalmir. "The emir commands haste."

  He strode up the alley, two of his men in front of Caina, and two of them behind. Clearly, he still thought she was a deserter. Caina kept her expression bored, her eyes roving over the other soldiers. They looked tense and wary, but they were in an enemy city. They paid her no particular attention.

  The officer led them into the Great Market.

  And Caina realized she had much bigger problems than just finding Nicolai.

  Istarish troops filled the Great Market. She saw thousands of infantry in their scale armor and spiked helms. With them marched hundreds of Immortals, the blue light of their eyes glimmering beneath their skull helms. Behind them waited soldiers in gleaming cuirasses and helms, gray-green cloaks flowing from their shoulders. Kyracian ashtairoi, the soldiers of New Kyre.

  The Kyracians had landed their troops.

  And among the soldiers sat thousands of captives.

  Women and children, mostly. No doubt the Istarish had killed any man who resisted. The newly captured slaves sat in rows, their necks and wrists bound with chains or ropes, each captive linked to the next. Many of the captives wept, and some simply screamed, filling the Market with a hellish cacophony.

  Hot fury filled Caina, and she wanted to draw her daggers and plunge them into the nearest Istarish soldiers. She loathed slavers, hated them almost as much as she hated sorcerers, and if she had the power, she would have slain every last slave trader in the world.

  But she did not have the power. And her wits were her only defense here. So she kept quiet and kept walking with the soldiers, but her eyes swept the lines of captives, seeking for Nicolai.

  So many weeping children. Gods, how could she even find Nicolai among such a throng? For that matter, once she found him, how could she get him back to Ark and Tanya? Picking the locks on the chains would be easy enough, but once she did, the other slaves would see what was happening. The commotion would draw the attention of the soldiers.

  A trumpet blast rang out, and Caina saw the Istarish soldiers and Kyracian ashtairoi move into formation. Rezir Shahan and his Kyracian allies were preparing to march up the Avenue of Governors. No doubt he intended t
o seize the Plaza of the Tower - from there, he could attack the Citadel and the city’s gates.

  "Which unit are you from?" said the khalmir.

  Caina opened her mouth to answer.

  "No matter. You're part of mine now," said the khalmir. "Welcome to the ninth company, dog. Try to run, and I'll have your head."

  "As you say, sir," said Caina, her mind racing. If the Istarish were preparing to attack, the khalmir would be too busy to track down one deserter. Which gave Caina an opportunity. If she could slip away and conceal herself, she could wait until the bulk of force had moved up the Avenue of Governors. Only a few men would remain to guard the captives. Then Caina could find Nicolai, take him, and escape.

  The khalmir led her to a company at the rear of the Istarish formation. To her left, she saw a warehouse fronting on the Market, its doors torn away, the crates inside shattered and in disarray. No doubt the Istarish soldiers had already looted it. It would make a perfect place for concealment.

  "Form up, dogs!" yelled the khalmir. "Ninth company, form up! Come on, you laggards, form up!" The men hastened to obey, and Caina found herself between two hulking soldiers. She was not tall, and almost all the soldiers stood taller than she did. Hopefully, the khalmir would not notice. "March!"