Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge

by Jonathan Moeller

  And that only hardened his certainty that the woman before him was not Caina. He had seen Caina fight and knew the limits of her strength and speed. The woman with the sword and serrated dagger, whoever she was, moved faster and struck harder than Caina ever could.

  They broke apart again. Ark and Muravin were both breathing hard, sweat dripping down their faces. Caina was also breathing hard, but she was not sweating. Not a hair had fallen out of place in her elaborate hairstyle, and her makeup had not even been smudged.

  Was her appearance an illusion? That would explain how she could fight in heeled boots and a long skirt without losing her balance.

  “You are better than I expected,” said Caina. She glanced at the corpses. “These others, they all died like cattle led to the butcher’s block.” She laughed. “At least you are making a fight of it. I…”

  The doors to the courtyard swung open, and Ark spotted a woman standing there, gazing down at Tarzain’s corpse with shock. She was tall, with long black hair and blue eyes, her hand lifted to her mouth in surprise.

  Tanya.

  Caina looked at her, at Ark, and then grinned.

  “Arcion?” said Tanya. “What…”

  “Run!” shouted Ark. “Run, now!”

  Caina sprinted at Tanya, sword and dagger held low. Ark cursed and raced after her. Tanya did not run. She had no reason to run. Caina had saved her life in Marsis, had rescued her from the Moroaica. Why should Tanya fear her liberator?

  So she made no move to defend herself as Caina seized her hair and wrenched her around, her serrated dagger coming to rest at Tanya’s throat.

  “Balarigar!” said Tanya. “What is this? Why…”

  “That’s not her,” said Ark, striding toward them. “That’s some creature wearing her guise.”

  “Oh, very good,” said Caina. “Ah! No further, Champion. No further at all. Another step and I’ll cut her throat.”

  Ark froze, as did Muravin. He was not far from one of the workbenches. Perhaps they had a crossbow he could use. But Ark saw only shields and javelins within reach.

  “I thought I had made a misstep,” said Caina. “Can’t use sorcery in front of witnesses. It will spoil the game. And I don’t think I could kill you without using a spell.” Her cruel smile widened, and she pressed the dagger tighter against Tanya’s throat. “But this…this will be more fun by far. You’re going to do exactly what I say, or you’re going to watch your wife bleed to death in front of you.”

  “Arcion,” said Tanya, “don’t listen to her, go…”

  “Shut up,” said Caina, tapping her throat with the dagger. “Let’s play a game, shall we? You, Champion of Marsis. Kill the gladiator, now. Or else I’ll kill your wife.”

  “No,” said Ark. “You’ll kill us all, anyway.”

  Caina laughed. “Perhaps I’ll change my mind. Perhaps I’ll discover the wonders of mercy.” She shrugged her right shoulder, her left arm holding the dagger rocky-steady against Tanya’s windpipe. “Decide. Now.”

  For a moment Ark remembered the final confrontation with Naelon Icaraeus below Black Angel Tower as the renegade lord held a sword to Tanya’s throat. Ark had killed Naelon then, after another Ghost had distracted the renegade with a crossbow bolt.

  But there was no one here with a bow. Only Ark and Muravin.

  And Tanya, caught in the grasp of the false Caina.

  A distraction, Ark needed a distraction.

  And as the thought crossed his mind, Muravin bellowed and charged at Caina.

  Her eyes jerked toward Muravin, and for just a moment, her attention was turned from Ark.

  Ark had one chance to act. He snatched a javelin from the table, the wooden haft smooth and hard against his grip. He had thrown such a weapon hundreds, thousands of times, both training with the Legion and in battle against the foes of the Empire.

  But he had never thrown a javelin at a foe holding his wife.

  There was no time to hesitate. Ark drew back his arm and flung the javelin with all his strength in a short, tight arc. Caina started to turn from Muravin, but it was too late. The javelin slammed into her right shoulder and burst from her lower back in a crimson spray.

  The blood did not mar the cloth of her gown.

  Caina screamed, and Tanya kicked backwards with all her strength. Her boot hammered into Caina’s knee, and the smaller woman stumbled, the javelin still jutting from her torso. Tanya wrenched free of Caina’s grip and ran for Ark.

  Caina grabbed at the door for balance, lips peeled back from her teeth in a snarl. She took a step forward, and Muravin flung his trident. This time the weapon slammed into Caina’s stomach, and she fell backward through the doors.

  Her scream sounded more furious than pained.

  “Arcion!” said Tanya. “What…”

  “The children,” said Ark, “where are the children?”

  “They are with the maids at the House of Kularus, I left them there when I went to the market,” said Tanya.

  “Wait here,” said Ark, striding forward.

  Caina lay sprawled in the courtyard just beyond the doors, blood pooling on the ground beneath her. Still the blood did not stain her gown, and her makeup and hair remained perfect.

  An illusion.

  Muravin joined Ark, his scimitar in hand.

  “Good throw,” said Muravin.

  “You, too,” said Ark. “Kill her. We can search the corpse and…”

  Caina snarled and flung out her hands, green flame blazing around her fingertips.

  A spell.

  A wall of invisible force slammed into Ark and flung him to the floor of the foundry. The sword bounced from his hand and clattered away. He tried to stand, but the room kept spinning around him.

  A moment later Tanya shouted his name and grabbed his shoulder.

  He sat up with a groan, shaking his head. “My sword…damn it! Where is Caina?” A surge of fear went through him. She would kill Tanya, would find Nicolai and Natasha and kill them both…

  “She’s gone,” said Tanya. “Caina…no, I will not say that creature was Caina, whatever she was. She got up and ran off, even with that javelin in her back. Arcion, that was…that was an amazing throw.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I had motivation.”

  A tremulous smile went over her face, and Ark felt a wave of crushing guilt. Again and again she had been exposed to danger because of him. The Moroaica had taken her captive for five years, and the Istarish had almost killed her in Marsis.

  And now that creature wearing Caina’s face had nearly slain her simply to spite Ark.

  No, not because of Ark. Because of Caina.

  But why? The attacker had used Caina’s appearance. But why attack Ark’s family and workers to get at Caina?

  Muravin sat up with a groan. “Damned sorcerers.”

  “Are you injured?” said Ark.

  “No,” said Muravin, “though my head hurts. Damned sorcerers!”

  Ark climbed to his feet, retrieved his sword, and went into the courtyard. A pool of blood marked the ground, but there was no trace of the false Caina.

  “What is this about, husband?” said Tanya. “What is happening?”

  “I do not know,” said Ark. “Muravin, go summon the civic militia. After I have spoken with them, I will need to speak with the other Ghosts at once.”

  ###

  The next morning Ark went to the Grand Imperial Opera.

  He had spent the rest of the last day speaking with Tomard, a tribune of the civic militia. He was a friend of the Ghosts, and had accepted Ark’s account of what had happened without question. Ark had gone himself to bear the grim news to the wives of the dead men. He would look after the widows, he vowed, make sure they were fed and that their children would not grow up on the street.

  The Ghosts looked after their own.

  The Grand Imperial Opera was a magnificent domed edifice, built of gleaming marble and fronted with rows of ornate columns. Ark passed the main entrance and went t
o the side door. The watchman knew him on sight, and he made his way through the workshops beneath the stage to a dressing room.

  A tall woman in her middle forties stood in the dressing room, her long blond hair pulled back, her face grim as she read letters spread across her table. The table held hundreds upon hundreds of vials of cosmetics and powders, but the woman’s attention was upon the letters.

  “Theodosia,” said Ark.

  She looked up from the letters and smiled. She was the leading lady of the Grand Imperial Opera, a singer renowned for the power and range of her voice, and she had sung before half the high lords of the Empire, even the Emperor himself.

  And she was also one of the Ghost circlemasters of Malarae, and had arranged the downfall of many of the Emperor’s enemies.

  “Arcion,” she said. “Thank the gods you are alive.” Her smile faded. “The news is…not pleasant.”

  “You heard about the attack upon the foundry?” said Ark.

  “Aye, and all the others,” said Theodosia.

  “Others?” said Ark. “There were others?”

  “I fear so,” said Theodosia. She hesitated. “Nineteen Ghosts were killed yesterday.”

  “Nineteen?” said Ark, stunned. “By who?”

  “By a woman,” said Theodosia, “in the guise of Caina Amalas.”

  “Then you do not believe it was her?” said Ark.

  Theodosia sniffed and drew herself up. “Champion of Marsis, I would sooner believe that the sun rose in the west and set in the east, that rivers flowed uphill and that men could live by drinking saltwater. Caina Amalas would never betray the Ghosts.”

  For a moment Ark saw a faint hint of Caina in Theodosia’s movements, in the theatricality of her pose, and he realized where Caina had learned her great skill at disguise.

  “Though,” said Theodosia, “a magus might have twisted her mind…”

  “No,” said Ark. “The woman who attacked my workers cast a spell. And you know as well as I do that Caina hates sorcery more than anything.”

  “I agree,” said Theodosia. “But nineteen Ghosts are dead, slain by a woman who looks like Caina. I fear…I fear there will be consequences.”

  “What do you mean?” said Ark.

  “Do you know Lord Aeolus?” said Theodosia.

  “Only in passing,” said Ark. “A minor functionary in the Emperor’s court.”

  “That is the public face he presents to the world,” said Theodosia. “In truth he is one of the high circlemasters of the Ghosts.” She held up the letter. “And he has summoned us to meet with him.”

  “Why?” said Ark.

  “To discuss how best to defend the Emperor from the traitor Caina Amalas,” said Theodosia, “and how to track her down and kill her before she murders any more Ghosts.”

  Chapter 4 - To End The War

  Two weeks after leaving Mornu, Caina and Corvalis returned to Marsis.

  Corvalis drove their cart through the city’s northern gate, Caina sitting next to him. They had taken the cart and a team of horses south from Mornu, disguised as fur traders from Varia Province. Caina sat wrapped in a heavy cloak, fake stubble shading her jaw, her dyed blond hair hanging greasy and ragged around her face. They had passed burned villages along the Imperial Highway, attacked by either Kyracian or Istarish raiders, but had encountered no enemies.

  And they had seen no trace of either Ranarius or Sicarion.

  Now the grim, gray walls of Marsis rose over them, scarred and weathered from countless sieges. Ballistae and catapults waited atop the walls, and Caina saw the glint of armor as Legionaries patrolled the ramparts. A long line of carts waited at the gate, and Legionaries searched the carts and questioned their drivers. Marsis had almost fallen to the Istarish and the Kyracians once, and it seemed that Aiodan Maraeus, the new Lord Governor, was not taking any chances. Beyond the walls, Caina saw the grim bulk of the Citadel standing on its crag in the heart of the city, the slender dark shape of Black Angel Tower rising six hundred feet over the Citadel’s highest towers.

  She shuddered

  Below, in the vaults below Black Angel Tower, she had fought and killed the Moroaica for the first time. In the Tomb of Scorikhon below the Citadel, Caina had seen Andromache of House Kardamnos possessed by Scorikhon’s spirit. In the Great Market of Marsis Caina had seen the Istarish attack, had lost Nicolai in the swirling chaos of the battle…

  She shuddered again, and forced herself to remain still, a bored expression on her face. She did not want to draw the attention of the guards.

  “Are you all right?” said Corvalis in a low voice.

  “No,” said Caina. “I’m not. Too many things happened here. Too many bad memories.” She took a deep breath. “But I’ll handle it.”

  Corvalis gave her hand a quick squeeze, and their cart rolled up to the gate. The Legionary guards questioned them, and Corvalis answered their questions with ease. The guards laughed and waved him through the gate. Caina listened with half an ear as the cart rattled into the North Gate Plaza. Here, she knew, Ark and the men of the Legion had stood against the attack of the Istarish foot soldiers and the Kyracian ashtairoi. Here Ark had slain the stormdancer Kleistheon in single combat. Caina remembered the awful chaos of that night, fighting Rezir Shahan in the ruined warehouse, the screams of joy and terror as she flung Rezir’s severed head into the shocked mass of his soldiers…

  She realized Corvalis was looking at her.

  “Sorry,” said Caina. She rubbed her face, feeling the fake stubble of her disguise rasp against her palms. “Sorry. It’s just…every time I’ve visited Marsis, something unpleasant has happened.”

  Corvalis nodded. “I understand. If we ever visit Artifel, I’ll spend half my time scowling and staring at nothing.” He snapped the reins, steering the cart through the traffic on the Avenue of Champions. “Where to?”

  “Zorgi’s Inn, a few blocks from the Plaza of the Tower,” said Caina. “He’ll be waiting for us there.”

  Caina’s eyes scanned the crowds going about their business. She had not visited Marsis in two years, not since Rezir Shahan’s defeat, and the city had recovered from the ravages of the attack. The barricades had been cleared away, the burned houses rebuilt. Yet Caina still saw the shadows of the battle, the women and children screaming, Andromache’s lightning falling from the sky.

  If not for her duties, she would never have returned here.

  A short time later Corvalis drove the cart through the Plaza of the Tower, past the wealthy shops and prosperous merchant houses, and stopped before Zorgi’s Inn. Flourishing gardens surrounded the inn, and the building itself was a handsome mixture of white stone and polished timbers. Wealthy merchants from across the Empire stayed at Zorgi’s Inn when they came to Marsis for business.

  Caina pushed open the inn’s door, Corvalis following, and stepped into the common room. Long tables ran its length, fires crackling in hearths on either wall. Stairs climbed up to balconies and the guest suites.

  A stout Szaldic man in his late forties hurried over, smiling beneath his gray mustache. He had aged considerably in the two years since Caina had met him, but he looked much happier now.

  “Welcome, welcome!” said Zorgi in Caerish with a thick Szaldic accent. “Welcome to my inn! Fur traders down from the north, yes? Good, you will find a fine price for your wares. All the raiding has disrupted trade, and…”

  “I’m looking for Basil Callenius, master innkeeper,” said Caina.

  “Yes, of course,” said Zorgi, lowering his voice. “He is by the fire. And friends of Master Basil are always welcome at my inn.”

  Caina thanked him and led the way across the common room. A man in his middle fifties sat by the fire, reading a letter. He wore the furred robe and cap of a master merchant, and as he lifted the letter Caina saw his scarred, muscled arm.

  “Master Basil Callenius,” said Caina.

  Halfdan, high circlemaster of the Ghosts, the man who used Basil Callenius and a dozen false names, looke
d up at her and smiled.

  “Ah, you’ve arrived,” he said, his face giving no hint of his thoughts. “I am glad you made it on time. I’ve heard rumors of dire happenings in Varia Province, and I feared you could not arrive with my delivery of furs.” He rose. “Master Zorgi has a dining room where we can discuss our business without unwelcome eavesdroppers.”

  He led them from the common room to a small dining room on the second floor and shut the door. A table filled most of the room, chairs waiting in a circle around it, and a window overlooked the gardens below. Food and drink waited upon the table.

  “You’ve wine, thank the gods,” said Corvalis, pouring himself a cup. “I think I swallowed enough dust to make my own damned island.” He offered the cup to Caina, and she shook her head.

  “Master Zorgi strives to be a good host,” said Halfdan. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t ask for coffee.”

  “Why ask for it when there’s none to be had?” said Corvalis. “We haven’t sold any coffee in Marsis yet. Though I suppose we shall bring the benefits of civilization to these benighted westerners sooner or later.” He laughed and took a drink from the wine.

  “That’s not good,” said Halfdan.

  “Why’s that?” said Corvalis. “The wine is really quite good.”

  “You’re making jokes,” said Halfdan, “and you only do that when the news is bad.”

  Corvalis sighed. “Aye.”

  He looked at Caina.

  She told Halfdan what had happened in Varia Province, sparing none of the details. Halfdan started to pace as she described it to him, nodding in places.

  Then he sat down and poured himself a cup of wine.

  “You’re sure of this?” said Halfdan.

  “I am,” said Caina. “Ranarius died in Cyrioch, and Maena Tulvius in Caer Magia. But his spirit took another host, just as the Moroaica’s does. She must have taught him the ability.”

  Halfdan shook his head. “Some men make mortal enemies. You, my dear, seem to have a knack for finding enemies that pursue you from beyond the grave.” He sighed. “At least there wasn’t truly a slaver gang operating out of Mornu. Though that is small consolation.”