Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes

by Jonathan Moeller

  Caina found herself looking at the tip of a crossbow bolt pointed at her face. The crossbow rested in the arms of a bald man of about forty, with cold gray eyes and the build of a blacksmith. He wore a ragged red tunic and trousers, a Kyracian sword at his belt.

  “It’s late,” said the man. “Business can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Not this business, Ark,” said Caina in Caerish, dropping her disguised voice. She reached up, drew back her hood, and tugged off her mask.

  She heard a startled curse from Muravin. Undoubtedly he had believed her to be a man.

  Arcion of Caer Marist, the Champion of Marsis, friend of Lord Corbould Maraeus, and owner of Malarae’s newest foundry, lowered his crossbow. “Countess. I wasn’t expecting you until later this morning, when Halfdan arrives. You have a knack for surprises.”

  “It’s a gift,” said Caina. “I need your help.” She gestured at Muravin and Mahdriva. “I think they’re escaped slaves. They’ve got the Kindred of Istarinmul and the Immortals after them.”

  Ark frowned. “Immortals? In Malarae?”

  Caina nodded.

  “You must have left quite a few corpses behind,” said Ark.

  “Aye,” said Caina. “The civic militia is going to have a busy morning. This is the safest place I could reach at short notice.” Indeed, it would be hard to find a more secure place to hide Mahdriva and Muravin. Ark preferred to hire veterans, and most of his workers knew how to fight. The Kindred could not burn down the brick foundry, and there was only one entrance into Ark’s apartment.

  And, more, she trusted Ark. They had entered some very dangerous situations together and managed to come out alive at the end.

  Ark glanced at the stairs. “I suppose you have your pet assassin with you?”

  Corvalis rolled his eyes.

  “Ark,” said Caina. “He does come in handy.”

  Ark grunted. “Come inside.”

  He turned and vanished into the apartment, and Caina beckoned for the others to follow.

  They entered a large, comfortable sitting room, with wide windows overlooking the foundry’s courtyard. The view was hardly scenic, but the windows would admit ample sunlight. A thin boy of about seven years stood near the door, watching them with wide gray eyes.

  He grinned when he saw Caina.

  “Countess,” he said.

  Caina smiled and ruffled his hair. “Nicolai.” A blur of memories shot through her. She had taken Ark’s son with her on a walk on the day Rezir Shahan attacked. They had been trapped in the Great Market by the Istarish troops, and the slavers had taken Nicolai.

  Caina had gotten him back, but to save his son, Ark had rallied the remaining defenders of Marsis and wound up killing Kleistheon, a Kyracian stormdancer, winning the title of the Champion of Marsis.

  If the slavers had not taken Nicolai, Marsis might well have fallen to the Istarish and the Kyracians.

  “You have brought guests,” said Nicolai, looking at Mahdriva and Muravin with wide eyes.

  “I did,” said Caina, pushing aside the memories. “Your mother makes the finest cakes in Malarae, and they wished to taste them.”

  “Nicolai,” said Ark, “go wake your mother.”

  “She’s up anyway,” said Nicolai. He wrinkled his nose. “The baby was crying again.”

  Caina laughed. “Babies do that.”

  Nicolai ran back into the apartment’s inner rooms. Muravin walked to one of the couches and helped Mahdriva to sit. The girl looked wet and cold and exhausted. Muravin hovered over her, his touch gentle, and she leaned against him.

  Strange to contrast that with the man’s brutal fighting prowess.

  “Where have you taken us?” said Muravin to Caina in Istarish, voice low. He watched her warily, no doubt still surprised that she was a woman.

  “The house of a friend,” said Caina. “He owns this foundry, and his workers are veterans of the Emperor’s Legions. I do not think the Kindred followed us, but if they did, they will find this place well-protected.”

  “Give him my thanks,” said Muravin. “For he has put himself at risk by taking us into his home.”

  “No need,” said Ark in Istarish. “I understand you well enough. And your thanks are unnecessary.” His eyes hardened. “I think you are escaped slaves…and I do not care for slavers.”

  Muravin nodded. “The woman of the shadows said as much.” He looked Ark up and down, a warrior measuring another warrior. “You were in the Legions, no? That is how you know the Padishah’s tongue?”

  “I was the first spear centurion of the Eighteenth Legion,” said Ark. “The Eighteenth spent several years guarding the Empire’s southern border against the tribesmen of the Argamaz Desert.”

  “Ha!” said Muravin. “Then we are well-protected. The tribesmen of the Argamaz are vicious…”

  The inner door opened, and Tanya walked out, wrapped in a robe. She looked a great deal like Caina, with blue eyes and black hair, though she was six inches taller and a bit heavier. She stopped, looked at Muravin and Mahdriva, and then at Ark.

  “Husband,” she said in Caerish. “We have guests?”

  “Aye,” said Ark. “I suspect they are escaped slaves.”

  “Oh, you poor dear,” said Tanya, sitting next to Mahdriva. “You’re half-frozen, I shouldn’t wonder. Let us get you some warm clothing and food. That will help. And a comfortable bed upon which you can sleep.”

  Mahdriva blinked and looked at her father.

  “She only speaks Istarish, I think,” said Caina. She switched to Istarish and addressed Muravin. “This woman has borne two children herself. She will know how to care for Mahdriva.”

  “Daughter,” said Muravin, getting to his feet, “go with this woman, and let her tend to you.” He started to step forward, swayed, and grabbed at the back of the couch for support.

  “Father!” said Mahdriva, grabbing his hands.

  “I am well,” said Muravin, shaking his head. “I…”

  “I suspect you spent all night fighting and running,” said Caina, “and even the mightiest champion needs rest. Go with your daughter. You have earned your rest, and we can decide how to proceed in the morning.”

  Muravin managed a weary nod. “You speak wisdom, however strange you seem to me. I will rest.”

  “Wife,” said Ark in Caerish. “Put them in the guest room. Make sure the shutters are closed. I suspect dangerous men wish them dead.”

  Tanya smiled. “If I know anything, husband, it is how to be discreet in the face of danger. Nicolai, come and help me bring food to our new friends.”

  She took Mahdriva’s arm and led the girl from the room, Muravin and Nicolai following, leaving Caina and Corvalis alone with Ark.

  “What the hell is this about?” said Ark.

  “I don’t yet know,” said Caina. “We saw an Immortal moving through the streets, and I thought it odd. We followed him and found the Kindred and the Immortals trying to take Mahdriva alive. Muravin held them off while Mahdriva tried to flee.”

  “The old man must be formidable with a blade,” said Ark, “if he managed to hold off Immortals.”

  “He is,” said Corvalis, voice quiet. “And if he survived Nalazar, that makes him all the more formidable. The Istarish Kindred are not to be trifled with.”

  “Who is Nalazar?” said Ark.

  “A Kindred from Istarinmul. Which reminds me,” said Caina. “How do you know Nalazar?”

  Corvalis sighed. “When I was a member of the Kindred family in Artifel, Nalazar and some Kindred from Istarinmul came to our Sanctuary. An emir who gained the Padishah’s disfavor had fled north, and Nalazar had been sent to hunt him down. The Elder of Artifel helped him in exchange for a cut of the profits.”

  “Did this Nalazar succeed?” said Ark.

  “He did,” said Corvalis. “He’s good at what he does.”

  “Would he recognize you?” said Caina.

  “Maybe,” said Corvalis. “I was in the room when he met with the Elder, but
I don’t know if he would remember me.”

  “A more important question,” said Ark, “is why the Istarish Kindred came north in pursuit of this gladiator and his daughter. And with Immortals.”

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. “The Immortals serve the Padishah, but the College of Alchemists creates them. My best guess is that Mahdriva is pregnant with the bastard heir of some emir or another.”

  “She said the Kindred had slain her sisters,” said Corvalis.

  “Perhaps the Kindred killed her sisters,” said Ark, “and Muravin took her and fled north before they could find her.”

  “That seems likely,” said Caina. She yawned and rubbed her face. Gods, but it had been a trying night. “We can get more information out of them tomorrow. When Halfdan meets us here, we can tell him what happened, and perhaps he’ll know more…and he might be able to get Muravin and Mahdriva to talk.”

  “You think they’ll lie to us?” said Ark.

  Corvalis shrugged. “Why would they not? They have no reason to trust us.”

  “And it is indeed odd,” said Ark, “that this happens the week before a new Lord Ambassador arrives from Istarinmul.”

  “We will find out more tomorrow,” said Caina.

  Ark grunted and crossed to the shutters. “It is tomorrow.” Caina saw that the night sky had begun to brighten. “Halfdan will be here soon. Why don’t you two rest here? I’ll have Tanya bring you some food once she’s finished with Muravin and Mahdriva.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina. “For everything.”

  Ark offered a tight smile. “I don’t like slavers any more than you do.”

  He disappeared through the inner door, leaving Caina alone with Corvalis. She sat on the couch Mahdriva had vacated. The soft cushions felt pleasant against her legs and back, and a wave of weariness went through Caina. It had indeed been a long night.

  She looked at Corvalis and smiled.

  And she hadn’t gotten that much sleep before seeing that first Immortal, either.

  Corvalis stared at the inner door as he sat, his face grim.

  “What is it?” said Caina.

  “I wonder if Muravin would have tried to kill me,” he said, “if he knew what I really was.”

  “What you used to be,” said Caina. “You’re not Kindred any longer.”

  “True,” said Corvalis. He sighed. “A man like Nalazar. That’s what I would have become. If not for Claudia.” He looked at her. “If not for you.”

  “You’re a better man than you think you are, Corvalis Aberon,” said Caina. “I’ve told you that before. Perhaps someday you shall listen.”

  “Perhaps,” said Corvalis. His frown faded. “Though I wonder how Nalazar found them at the Inn of the Broken Wheel. Malarae has a thousand inns. Muravin could have chosen any one of them. How did Nalazar find them?”

  “With luck,” said Caina, “we’ll discover that tomorrow.”

  He took her hand, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

  “There is one thing,” said Corvalis, “I enjoy about this ridiculous charade of Anton Kularus. He has quite a comfortable bed.”

  Caina laughed. “If you’re tired enough, you can sleep anywhere.”

  She proved it by drifting off to sleep.

  ###

  A pounding at the door awoke Caina.

  She lifted her head from Corvalis’s shoulder, her hand reaching towards her knives out of habit. More sunlight streamed through the opened windows.

  The inner door opened, and Ark came out, crossbow in hand. He stepped to the front door, opened it a crack, and spoke for a while in High Nighmarian. Then he laughed and stepped aside. A man in the furred-lined robe of master merchant walked into the sitting room, a beret with a silver badge on his head. He had iron-gray hair and a close-cropped beard, and the thick arms of a man accustomed to physical labor.

  “Well,” said the man in the robe, his voice thick with a Caerish accent, “you’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

  “Halfdan,” said Caina.

  He was one of the high circlemasters of the Ghosts, and she had known him for over ten years, ever since he had rescued her from Maglarion’s lair near Aretia. He was one of the four or five most knowledgeable men in the Empire – and one of the most dangerous.

  Few others knew as many secrets.

  “I will never get used,” said Halfdan, “to the sight of you with blond hair.”

  Caina sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

  “It suits you,” said Halfdan. “But we have more pressing concerns. The civic militia is in an uproar, Theodosia tells me. A dozen dead men, found scattered from the merchants’ district to the docks, most of them Istarish. I’ve heard some say that a gang of Istarish slavers ran amok, others that a group of assassins sent to kill the new Lord Ambassador turned on each other.”

  “Fanciful tales,” said Corvalis.

  “Indeed,” said Halfdan. “What really happened?”

  “You just assume we were involved?” said Corvalis.

  Halfdan snorted. “I stopped by the home of Anton Kularus on my way here, and the servants told me that Master Kularus had stepped out with his mistress. Kindly credit me with at least some brains between my ears, my boy.”

  So Caina told him. She described how they had seen the Immortal, rescued Mahdriva, and helped Muravin escape from Nalazar and the Kindred.

  “I don’t know what was happening,” said Caina. “My best guess is that Mahdriva is carrying the bastard child of some emir or another, and one of the emir’s wives sent assassins to kill off the threat to her own children.” She shook her head. “But that doesn’t explain why the Immortals came with the Kindred.”

  Halfdan crossed to the windows and gazed down at the foundry’s courtyard. “It doesn’t.”

  “And the timing is suspicious,” said Caina, “since the new Lord Ambassador from Istarinmul is arriving within a week.”

  “It is,” said Halfdan. “Especially since the Lord Ambassador will sue for peace.”

  For a moment silence fell over the sitting room.

  “For peace?” said Ark.

  “The war against New Kyre is a stalemate,” said Caina. “The Empire cannot defeat them on sea, but the Legions can crush them on land.”

  “Aye,” said Halfdan, “but the war against Istarinmul is different. I doubt the Padishah really wanted it, and Rezir Shahan convinced him that he could win a quick victory in Marsis. Well, Rezir is dead, and the Empire still holds Marsis. Lord Corbould’s eldest son Conn has been leading the Legions south against the armies of Istarinmul, and he has won victory after victory. He has pushed deep into the Argamaz Desert, and the Istarish armies have fallen back to Istarinmul itself. The Padishah’s power comes from his ability to close the Starfall Strait, but Lord Conn is almost close enough to build forts overlooking the Strait itself.”

  “And if he does,” said Caina, “the Padishah will lose a great deal of power.”

  “More likely, the Padishah will find himself with a Kindred dagger between his ribs,” said Halfdan. “The emirs of Istarinmul are a ruthless lot, and do not tolerate weakness in their rulers. The Padishah wants peace, now, before he loses any more prestige.”

  “Why not finish it?” said Corvalis. “Push on to Istarinmul and take the city itself?”

  Ark shook his head. “The city’s walls are too strong. Every Legionary in the Empire, gathered together, could not take Istarinmul.”

  “And Istarinmul is impossible to besiege in any event,” said Halfdan. “The Padishah could bring a constant supply of fresh soldiers and food from the lands of his southern emirs. Our army would starve before the most wretched slave in Istarinmul felt the slightest pang of hunger. No, better to secure peace now, while the Padishah is willing to deal. And with Istarinmul at peace, the Emperor and the Legions can turn their full attention to New Kyre.”

  “So the Padishah wants peace,” said Caina. “Who is he sending as his Lord Ambassador? Not Callatas, I hope.” She had met the c
old, arrogant Master Alchemist at Catekharon.

  “No,” said Halfdan. “You remember Rezir Shahan?”

  “Better than I would like,” said Caina.

  “You should, given that you killed him,” said Halfdan.

  “You did?” said Corvalis. “You never mentioned that.”

  “No,” said Caina. She did not like to discuss what had happened in Marsis. “Actually, I lured him into a trap, blew off his hand, set him on fire, cut his throat, and threw his head into a crowd of his soldiers.” Thinking back, it seemed…surreal. As if it had happened to someone else. Yet she hated slavers, and Rezir Shahan had tried to enslave Nicolai and thousands of others.

  And the dramatic way she had killed him had given rise to the legend of the Balarigar, the story so beloved among tavern jongleurs.

  “I see,” said Corvalis. “Remind me not to anger you.”

  Caina smiled. “Wise man.” She looked at Halfdan. “But why mention him?”

  “Because,” said Halfdan, “Istarinmul’s new Lord Ambassador to the Emperor is also the new emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars. Tanzir Shahan, Rezir’s younger brother.”

  “Then is the Padishah truly serious about peace?” said Caina. “Rezir was the architect of the attack on Marsis. Surely his brother is cut from…no, poured from the same alloy.”

  Ark chuckled.

  “One would think so,” said Halfdan. “But Rezir was one of the most powerful emirs of Istarinmul and a hardened battle commander. Tanzir, it seems, is young and inexperienced. The Padishah wants peace, and is sending Tanzir because Tanzir will do exactly as he is told.”

  “Ah,” said Caina. “That’s why you’re here.”

  Both Ark and Corvalis looked at her, puzzled.

  “Because the Padishah wants peace,” said Caina, “but I doubt that all his emirs feel likewise. Or all the nobles of the Empire. Or the Kyracians.”

  “Or the Shahenshah of Anshan,” said Corvalis, understanding. “Anshan profits while the Empire and Istarinmul are at war.”

  “And if you want to keep the Empire and Istarinmul at war,” said Caina, “what better way to do it than by murdering the Padishah’s Lord Ambassador in the capital of the Empire?”