The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  Caina followed his gaze. A group of Anshani nobles waited near one of the bridges, clad in fine silks and gleaming armor. A large man stood at their head, his hand resting upon the hilt of his scimitar, his face cold and cruel beneath a graying beard. Caina thought the Anshani khadjar looked familiar.

  Then it clicked.

  "That's Nadirah's father, isn't it?" said Caina, remembering the renegade Anshani occultist lurking in the slums of Cyrioch. "Arsakan, the Shahenshah's brother."

  "Gods, you're right," said Corvalis. "I see the resemblance now."

  "If the Shahenshah sent his favorite brother," said Halfdan, "then he indeed takes this seriously."

  "They all did," said Corvalis. "I see embassies from the Kyracians, the Istarish, Alqaarin, the other free cities..."

  "Come," said Halfdan, glancing to the side. Lord Titus stood speaking with one of the Sages. "The foreign princes will have brought their own merchants and spies. It would be unseemly, of course, for us to approach men of lordly rank. But everyone expects merchants to gossip and seek advantage...and, perhaps, to gain some information?"

  "And that," said Caina, "is how we shall discover the intentions of the other embassies?"

  "Did I not say," said Halfdan, "that a clever daughter is worth more than jewels?"

  He strode into the crowds, Caina and the others following.

  ###

  Kylon looked through the Hall of Assembly, trying to keep his arcane senses under control.

  It was difficult.

  Power, incredible power, radiated from the pool of molten metal in the round chamber. Kylon knew how in desperation the last Archon of Old Kyrace had broken the binding upon the greater fire elemental beneath the city, destroying both Old Kyrace and the invading Imperial army.

  And most of the island upon which Old Kyrace had stood.

  "Gods of the brine," whispered Cimon. He stood with Alcios of House Kallias, and both men gazed with consternation at the river of molten metal. "Could these Sages have truly harnessed the power of a greater fire elemental?"

  "Let us hope so," said Kylon. "Else the city will explode."

  Both men gave him an alarmed look, and he stifled a grim laugh.

  “No,” said Kylon, “it’s not the Masked Ones who are the danger here. If they wanted to conquer the world with their sorcery, they would have done so already. No, it’s whoever purchases this damnable weapon. That is the true danger. We must ensure that New Kyre obtains the weapon, my lords.”

  Both Cimon and Alcios nodded, yet the words felt empty upon Kylon’s lips. The Masked Ones’ weapon, whatever it was, was too powerful for mortal hands to wield. Kylon had seen the cost of seeking such power.

  He remembered Andromache dying upon the floor of Scorikhon’s tomb.

  “Come,” said Kylon. “I suppose it is only polite to greet our fellow ambassadors.”

  He started across the floor, making for one of the bridges over the molten steel. An honor guard of six ashtairoi accompanied them, their cuirasses and helms polished to mirror brightness. Kylon extended his arcane senses as much as he dared, at least enough to sense the emotions of the men and women around him.

  For mortal men were but water…and Kylon’s peculiar talents let him sense it.

  Tension, fear, and anger washed over his senses. The various ambassadors maintained airs of polite interest, but Kylon detected their fears. He also felt the vast power gathered in the Masked Ones, and the arcane strength of some of the ambassadors.

  Sorcerers of power had gathered at the Scholae’s invitation.

  His eyes wandered over the embassy from the Empire of Nighmar. Would it come to blows between the Imperials and the Kyracians? Kylon had inflicted a grievous defeat upon the Imperial fleet, and doubtless whatever lord commanded the embassy would recognize Kylon. And if the Kyracian and Imperial embassies fought, the Masked Ones would expel them from the city.

  Perhaps that would be for the best. At the least, it would keep the weapon from falling into the hands of the Empire.

  He decided to greet the Anshani embassy first. Anshan sold a great deal of grain to New Kyre, and in exchange, the Kyracian fleets did not harass Anshan’s merchant shipping. If the Shahenshah decided to push away New Kyre, it would be disastrous.

  Kylon spotted the Anshani ambassador, a tall, stern man in scale armor with a gray beard, took a step towards him…and stopped.

  Something familiar brushed against his arcane senses.

  “Lord thalarchon?” said Alcios.

  “A moment,” said Kylon.

  The emotional presence against his senses felt like a sheet of ice covering a pit of lava. Iron self-control and discipline, a mind cold and cunning like a blade of ice. Yet a heart that burned with fury.

  “Her,” said Kylon.

  The Ghost was here.

  ###

  “Master Basil,” murmured Claudia, her voice urgent. “That man? I think he is an Anshani occultist.”

  “How do you know?” said Corvalis.

  “Look at his shadow,” said Caina. “Or, rather, his shadows.”

  The gaunt man in the elaborate black Anshani robe was seven feet tall, towering even over Arsakan and his anjars. A long gray beard hung to his belt, and his black eyes glittered like disks of stone. Every man and woman in the Hall had a shadow thrown by the molten river’s glow.

  The man in the black robe had three of them. They rotated him slowly, like dogs circling around their master. The other Anshani, even Arsakan, kept well away from the shadows. If Caina concentrated, she felt the cold, dark sorcery crackling around the man.

  “Gods,” said Corvalis. “Just like Nadirah.”

  “That,” said Halfdan, “is not any occultist. That is Yaramzod the Black himself, brother of Arsakan and the Shahenshah, and the most powerful sorcerer in Anshan.”

  “I see why Marzhod was so frightened of him,” said Caina. There was not a hint of mercy or compassion in Yaramzod’s face, only cold contempt and arrogance.

  “Some of the most powerful sorcerers in the world have come at the Scholae’s invitation,” said Halfdan. “You see there, with the Istarish emir? That is Callatas, a master alchemist of Istarinmul’s College of Alchemists. He is at least two hundred years old.”

  Callatas was short, his hair hidden beneath an elaborate turban, his white robes crisp and brilliant and glittering with jewels. And like Yaramzod, she saw no trace of mercy or kindness in that proud face. Around the alchemist and the emir stood hulking men in black plate armor, their helms wrought in the likeness of grinning skulls. A pale blue glow came from the eyes of their helmets. They were the Immortals, the elite bodyguards of the Padishah and his favorites, and alchemical elixirs enhanced their strength and speed…but also induced homicidal fury and a sadistic delight in pain.

  She remembered fighting the Immortals in the streets of Marsis. For a moment the entire dreadful battle flashed before her eyes. The running and the fighting, the screams of dying men and terrified women. Sicarion’s mocking laugh. Andromache’s lightning ripping from the sky, the freezing mist dancing around Kylon’s sword as he hunted her…

  Even as the memories flickered through her mind, she saw the Kyracian embassy walking towards Lord Titus.

  And she saw the man leading the Kyracian embassy.

  Her expression remained calm, but every muscle in her body tensed, and her hands twitched towards the throwing knives in her sleeves. Halfdan and Claudia, distracted by the embassies, did not notice, but Corvalis did.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  Kylon of House Kardamnos was speaking with Lord Titus.

  ###

  Kylon sketched a short bow before Titus Iconias. The stout Nighmarian lord watched him with a cold expression, as did his Imperial Guards.

  “I am Kylon, High Seat of House Kardamnos,” said Kylon, “lord thalarchon of the seventh fleet, and Lord Ambassador of the Archons and the Assembly to the Scholae of Catekharon.”

  Titus gave the exact same shal
low bow, like a man saluting his opponent before a duel. “And I am Titus, Lord of House Iconias, twice Lord Governor of Caeria Majoria, three times Lord Governor of Mardonia Inferior, twice Lord Commander of the Ninth Legion, and the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to the Scholae of Catekharon.”

  “You do me honor,” said Kylon, his eyes scanning Titus’s entourage.

  Where was the Ghost hiding?

  “As do you,” said Titus. “We did not expect the Assembly to send the Shipbreaker himself.”

  “Some have named me such,” said Kylon. He saw Titus’s own bodyguards and the black-armored Imperial Guards in their plumed helmets. Behind them stood a middle-aged man in merchant’s robe, a pair of young women in rich gowns, and a lean man in chain mail. A Nighmarian merchant, his daughters, and their guard, Kylon surmised.

  No sign of the Ghost.

  “And why should they not name you such?” said Titus. “For you have certainly broken a great many of my Emperor’s ships. And my Emperor does not forget such losses.”

  “Nor should he,” said Kylon. “Many brave men died.”

  His eyes fell upon the younger of the two women. She was short and slender, clad in a black-trimmed blue gown with a plunging neckline, jewels glinting in her ears and at her throat. She looked like a pretty, empty-headed woman with no more ambition than catching a powerful husband. Certainly nothing like the Ghost he had seen in Marsis.

  But he felt the woman’s icy emotions.

  “And many more men died,” said Titus, “when your city and the Padishah of Istarinmul betrayed our treaties and attacked Marsis. Many men, and many women and children, as well.”

  “Yes,” said Kylon, still looking at the merchant’s black-haired daughter. “I was there. The plan was my sister’s, for both she and Rezir Shahan sought to seize Marsis in one bold stroke. Yet they failed and are dead. And now the rest of us are left to fight the war they began.”

  “You sound almost as if you disapprove,” said Titus, glancing over his shoulder to see what Kylon was staring at. A brief smirk crossed his face. No doubt he thought Kylon infatuated.

  “May I be blunt, my lord?” said Kylon, not waiting for a reply. “This war benefits neither of us.”

  Alcios scowled and cleared his throat.

  “A curious thing to say,” said Titus, “given that you have won most of the victories.”

  Kylon shrugged. “To what avail? The Empire is vast. We cannot conquer it. And New Kyre is far from the Empire, and your fleets cannot reach us. We bleed each other to little gain.”

  For a moment Titus appeared surprised. “I had not expected to hear that, Kylon of House Kardamnos. You speak more wisdom than I expected. Perhaps I shall have glad tidings to bring back to my Emperor.” He scowled. “Unless the weapon of the Masked Ones destroys us all.”

  “Yes,” said Kylon. “That.”

  The black-haired woman looked at him.

  It was her. She looked nothing like the exhausted, sweaty, bloody, black-clad figure he had seen in Marsis. But he recognized those cold blue eyes.

  She was the Ghost.

  “If you will forgive me, my lord,” said Kylon, “may I speak to one of your followers? The merchant and I have had dealings in the past.”

  “What?” said Titus. “Yes, of course.”

  “My lord High Seat, my lord stormdancer,” said Kylon, “please keep Lord Titus company while I am gone.”

  They blinked at him in astonishment, but nodded.

  Kylon stepped before the merchant, who made a deep bow. The Ghost watched him without expression, and the lean man in chain mail glared at him.

  “My lord High Seat,” said the merchant, “you do me honor. I am Basil Callenius, a master merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers. Once peace returns to our two nations, I would be most honored to offer you my wares.” He gestured at the women. “These are my daughters, Irene and Anna.”

  “Thank you,” said Kylon. Undoubtedly the merchant was a Ghost himself. “I wish to speak with your daughter Anna for a moment.” He hesitated. “She…knew my late sister.”

  Basil looked at the Ghost.

  “Of course, Father,” she said, her expression calm. “It would be my honor.”

  “Please,” said Kylon. “Walk with me.”

  ###

  Caina said nothing as she walked with Kylon along the far wall of the Hall of Assembly. Some of the other ambassadors shot them amused looks. No doubt they thought Kylon infatuated or seeking an easy romantic conquest.

  She knew better.

  He looked different. It had been only a year since the attack on Marsis, but Kylon looked older, his expression grimmer.

  Would he try to kill her for what had happened to Andromache?

  “Did you find him?” said Kylon at last in Kyracian.

  “Who?” said Caina in the same language.

  “The boy,” said Kylon. “The son of your friend.” She saw his sword hand curl into a fist. “The boy you defeated my sister and slew Rezir Shahan to save.”

  “I did,” said Caina. “He lives with his mother and father in Malarae now, and is apprenticed in his father’s foundry.” She paused for a moment. “His father is the Champion of Marsis.”

  Kylon’s response was half-laugh, half-sigh. “Indeed? The gods have peculiar humor. You defeated Andromache and slew Rezir to save the boy, and I assume his father slew Kleistheon to save his son. Had that boy and his father been elsewhere, Marsis would have fallen.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caina. “Yet I didn’t defeat Andromache. She defeated herself.”

  “I know,” said Kylon. They stopped, the glow from the metal throwing harsh shadows over his face. “I could not blame you. Or myself. Taking vengeance upon either of us would have been pointless.” He took a deep breath. “Andromache…made her own decisions. And those decisions led her to ruin.”

  “So instead,” said Caina, “you decided to take vengeance upon the Empire.”

  “By destroying the fleets?” said Kylon. “Andromache started the war, but it has outlived her. Your Empire would destroy New Kyre if it could, Ghost. You know that as well as I do. So even though Andromache started the war for nothing, I will fight to defend my city from destruction.”

  “That is why you are here, isn’t it?” said Caina. “To obtain the weapon for New Kyre.”

  Kylon scowled. “If I must. And that is the same reason you are here.”

  “No,” said Caina. “I will destroy the weapon, if I can.”

  “Rather than give it to your Emperor?” said Kylon. “If it is as powerful as the Masked Ones claim, the Emperor could use it to destroy all of his enemies.”

  “Andromache thought the power in the Tomb of Scorikhon would her destroy all of her enemies,” said Caina, “and you saw how that ended.”

  Kylon said nothing for a moment, and Caina shot a glance over his shoulder. She saw Halfdan speaking with some Istarish merchants as Yaramzod and Callatas conversed, but Corvalis was watching her. Probably ready to aid her if Kylon attacked.

  She appreciated the gesture, but Kylon could cut down both her and Corvalis in a matter of seconds.

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Kylon. “It would be better if the weapon was destroyed. But you and I will be the only ones to think that. Certainly the others will do what is necessary to claim it.” He took a deep breath. “I cannot allow the Empire to have the weapon. Not for any reason. Because if the Empire takes it, New Kyre will be destroyed.”

  “If,” said Caina, “the weapon truly exists.”

  Kylon titled his head to the side. “You think it does not?”

  “The Masked Ones must have something,” said Caina. “Else why summon us here? But if they have such a powerful weapon, why sell it? Why not keep it?”

  “I do not know,” said Kylon. “I will think on what you have said, Ghost.”

  He walked back to the other Kyracians. Caina watched him for a moment, and then returned to Halfdan and the others.

  “Who was t
hat?” said Corvalis.

  “Kylon Shipbreaker,” said Halfdan.

  Corvalis’s eyes got a little wider. “You know him?”

  Caina nodded. “We tried to kill each other in Marsis.” She looked at Halfdan. “We might be able to convince him to help destroy the weapon.”

  Claudia frowned. “A Kyracian stormdancer?”

  “He has seen firsthand what too much arcane power can do to a woman,” said Caina.

  She expected Claudia to take offense at that, but Claudia had stopped paying attention. She stared at the entrance to the Hall of Assembly, all the blood draining from her face. Caina turned, her hands twitching towards her weapons.

  Men in black robes with red sashes strode through the door, flanked by soldiers in ornate black armor. Their breastplates bore the sigil of an opened book with a lidless eye resting upon the pages.

  The sigil of the Imperial Magisterium.

  “The magi?” said Corvalis. “What are they doing here?”

  That made no sense. The Empire had already sent an embassy with Lord Titus. But the Magisterium considered itself the rightful ruler of the Empire. And if the Magisterium could get its hands on the weapon of the Masked Ones, Caina had no doubt the First Magus would use it to seize control of the Empire.

  “Oh, gods,” said Claudia. “Father is here.”

  Corvalis said nothing, but Caina saw the muscles around his eyes tighten.

  A fat man in a black robe walked in the midst of the magi, a purple sash around his waist. Even from a distance, Caina saw the family resemblance. The man had the same green eyes and blond hair as Corvalis and Claudia. And he had the same arrogant, cruel expression as Callatas and Yaramzod.

  The same utter certainty of his own arcane might.

  For the first time Caina looked at Decius Aberon, the First Magus of the Imperial Magisterium.

  “Irene, Cormark,” said Halfdan. “We’ve made a mistake. We should have expected the Magisterium to send its own embassy. Get back to our rooms, now, and stay there until I send for you. If the First Magus sees you, we’re…”

  The doors to the Hall of Assembly boomed shut, a half-dozen Redhelms standing before the exit.