Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes

by Jonathan Moeller

  So why kill them and take their unborn children?

  It made no sense.

  “I would like to see them,” said Caina. “I have a few questions for Muravin.”

  “Of course, Balarigar,” said Shaizid, crossing to the far door.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Inside the barracks Mahdriva sat on one of the cots. She now had a proper dress of deep blue and looked healthier, though her cheeks were still drawn and dark circles ringed her eyes. Several spools of yarn rested next to her, and a pair of knitting needles clicked in her hands.

  Muravin stood nearby, polishing a suit of chain mail on a stand. He had asked for weapons, and Caina had obliged. The former gladiator now had weapons enough to fight an entire army on his own.

  Mahdriva started to stand. “Mistress Sonya.”

  “No, no, stay sitting,” said Caina in Istarish, putting a hand on Mahdriva’s shoulder.

  Muravin put down his cloth and walked over to join them. For all his age, the former gladiator moved with the same efficiency and economy Caina had seen in Corvalis and other skilled fighters. If she had faced Muravin and not a Bostaji atop that roof, Caina doubted she would have survived the encounter.

  “How are you?” said Caina.

  “Very tired,” said Mahdriva. “I am ready for this child to come, I think.” She touched her stomach. “To pass the time I am making a blanket for him.” She held up the cloth dangling from her needles. When finished, it would be a blue blanket adorned with yellow lions, worked with cunning skill.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Caina, touching the soft yarn with one hand.

  “I choose lions,” said Mahdriva, “because they are brave, like my child shall be. Just as my husband was, before…”

  She looked away.

  “It will be a fine blanket,” said Caina.

  “It is kind of you to speak to us,” said Muravin, “but I suspect you have questions for me.”

  He was clever. “Yes. For you, specifically, if you can spare the time.”

  Muravin snorted. “I am doing nothing but waiting. Come. We shall speak.” He led Caina into the corner of the barracks, and she heard the tap of Mahdriva’s needles resume.

  “How are you?” said Caina.

  Muravin shrugged. “I am as I always am. I do what I must.” He looked at her and nodded. “You killed someone today.”

  “How did you know?” said Caina, looking at her hands. Had she missed a blood spot? She didn’t think any of the Bostaji’s blood had gotten on her, but…

  “Your eyes,” said Muravin. “I know what the eyes of a killer look like. Do I not see them every time I look into a mirror?”

  “I did,” said Caina. “It was necessary.”

  “I do not doubt that,” said Muravin, “but we are still killers.” He glanced at Mahdriva. “Which is why I do not want her to overhear us. Such talk…upsets her, and she has endured enough suffering.”

  “Wise words,” said Caina, looking at Mahdriva. That could have been Caina, waiting for her first child. But then Maglarion had come…and her life had taken a very different path. “I came to talk about something else.”

  “Has there been any sign of Nalazar?” said Muravin.

  “None,” said Caina. “He’s lying low, I think, waiting for you to show yourself. Do you know a man named Ibrahmus Sinan?”

  Muravin frowned. “Why?”

  “He arrived with Tanzir Shahan today,” said Caina. “His advisor, I think.”

  “I do know him,” said Muravin. “He is an Alchemist of the College, and not as cruel as some of them.”

  Caina blinked. “Indeed?”

  “He was once a slave, I believe,” said Muravin. “When the power manifested in him, he was taken to the College, as are all who display arcane power. So he is not as cruel or lordly as many of the Alchemists.”

  “He knows you, then?” said Caina.

  Muravin nodded. “Not well, but we have spoken in passing. Perhaps I should go to him. He might know who has hired the Kindred to attack my daughters.”

  “I would not recommend that,” said Caina.

  “Why not?” said Muravin.

  Because Sinan was a sorcerer, and sorcerers were not trustworthy. But Caina stopped herself from saying that. That argument had not persuaded Corvalis during their disagreement about Claudia’s plan to ally with Mihaela, and that disagreement had almost led to disaster. Muravin would see Sinan as a potential patron and a powerful protector, not as a dangerous sorcerer.

  “Because it would put you and Mahdriva at unnecessary risk,” said Caina. “The emir has at least three hundred men in his embassy. Any one of them could be Kindred. If one of them sees you talking to Sinan, they might well follow you back here.”

  Muravin frowned. “But the Alchemist might know who hired the Kindred to attack us.”

  “Would he?” said Caina. “Do you think whoever hired the Kindred to murder your unborn children announced his plans to the College of Alchemists? Would Sinan be able to protect Mahdriva from the Kindred? Truly? Could he hide you from the assassins the way the Ghosts have done? Would he care that much?”

  Muravin said nothing for a long moment.

  “No,” he said at last. “He would not. He would be sympathetic, I think…but here in Malarae, he could not help us as he could in Istarinmul.” He sighed. “Assuming he would help us in Istarinmul. But why have you helped us so much, Ghost?”

  “Because,” said Caina, “I don’t like slavers.”

  “Well and good, but I am not a slave any longer,” said Muravin, “and neither is Mahdriva.”

  Caina frowned, caught off guard. “Because I do not wish to see her child murdered. Is that not enough?”

  Muravin looked at Mahdriva. “It is. Do not think me ungrateful, Mistress Sonya.” He snorted. “Though if that is your real name, I am the Padishah himself. I am grateful, Ghost…but life has taught me that nothing comes without a price. And I am curious what price you and Master Basil shall extract for your aid.”

  “Oh, there will be a price,” said Caina. “You’re going to become one of us.”

  Muravin frowned. “A Ghost?”

  “The Ghosts always have need of talent and skill,” said Caina, “and how many men fight as well as Muravin, the champion of the Arena of Padishahs? That is what Master Basil does, you know.” She thought of Riogan and Komnene and Ark and Annika and Marzhod, all the men and women Halfdan had rescued over the years…and then reshaped in his own image, just as he had done with her. “He rescues people…and then he recruits them.”

  “As he did with you?” said Muravin.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “And you will have need of employment, will you not? Champion or not, you’re a little old to hire out as a caravan guard.”

  “Cruel,” said Muravin, “but true.” He hesitated. “A favor to ask of you, Ghost.”

  “Ask,” said Caina.

  “The Emperor is offering a feast to welcome the emir Tanzir?” said Muravin.

  “He is,” said Caina.

  “And you and the other Ghosts shall be there, to keep the emir safe from assassins?” said Muravin.

  Caina frowned. “How do you know about that?”

  Muravin shrugged. “It is obvious. Why else would you question me so closely about Sinan and Tanzir Shahan? I know how the emirs scheme and plot against each other. Many wish the war with the Empire to end…but some wish it to continue, and how better to continue the war than by murdering the Padishah’s ambassador in the Emperor’s capital?”

  “That is so,” said Caina. “What favor do you wish to ask?”

  “Permit me to accompany you,” said Muravin.

  “Absolutely not,” said Caina. “If anyone recognizes you, Mahdriva will be danger.”

  “You can disguise me,” said Muravin. “I have seen how easily you shift from a merchant’s concubine to…whatever you truly are.”

  Caina decided to let that pass. “I have had practice. Can you masquerade a
s anything other than a former gladiator?”

  “No,” said Muravin, “but I can pass as your bodyguard. Master Anton seems like the sort of man who would hire a former gladiator as his guard.”

  That could work.

  “Perhaps,” said Caina. “But why take the risk?”

  “I wish to see the embassy for myself,” said Muravin. “It occurs to me that whoever brought this woe upon my family might have come north with the emir’s companions. Once we escaped Istarinmul and eluded Nalazar, our enemy might have come to Malarae to take a hand in the search.”

  “That makes sense,” said Caina. “Though we still don’t know how Nalazar found you at the Inn of the Broken Wheel.”

  “He must have followed me,” said Muravin. “I ask this of you, Ghost. I am useless caged here. Let me aid you. I know more of Istarinmul than any of your Ghosts. Perhaps I shall be of use to you.”

  It was a risk. Muravin could pass as a former gladiator turned bodyguard easily enough, but that was exactly the sort of man Nalazar would be hunting. But surely there were hundreds of such men in the Imperial capital, and Malarae was a city of a million. Nalazar could not find Muravin overnight.

  And Muravin’s knowledge might prove useful. The Bostaji proved that the Shahenshah wanted Tanzir dead…but that did not mean the Shahenshah was the only man who wanted Tanzir dead. Muravin might see something useful.

  It was a risk…but a calculated one, and it might have a useful payoff.

  “Very well,” said Caina. “Come along, then. You’re going to have to dress for a banquet.”

  Chapter 8 - The Imperial Citadel

  Caina had been a Ghost for eleven years, half of her life, and she had never set foot within the Imperial Citadel.

  Caina’s tasks for the Ghosts had taken her from Rasadda in the east to Marsis in the west and Cyrica Urbana in the south, and yet for all the time she had spent in Malarae, she had never entered the Imperial Citadel, the heart of the Empire, where the Emperor lived and the Imperial Curia met.

  She had to admit the vast fortress was much more impressive up close.

  Caina walked arm-in-arm with Corvalis, climbing the broad stone ramp that cut its way up the mountain spur to the Citadel’s outer wall. The ramp would make a tempting target for an invading army, but anyone foolish enough to attack would face the archers and war engines lining the Citadel’s towering outer wall. Little wonder the Imperial Citadel had never fallen to an invading army.

  Corvalis laughed.

  “What is it?” said Caina.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the guests making their way up the ramp to the gates. “Cruel of the Emperor to make them leave their coaches at the foot of the ramp.”

  Halfdan shrugged. “It is traditional.”

  “Though unpleasant,” said Corvalis, “to make those accustomed to riding everywhere to walk up the ramp.”

  “The exercise does them good,” said Halfdan.

  Muravin grunted. Thanks to Caina’s efforts, he looked quite a bit different. He had dyed his beard and hair black. The careful application of makeup gave the left side of his face a series of scars, his lip drooping from the damage. He wore gleaming chain mail beneath the livery of the House of Kularus, and carried a broadsword and a dagger at his belt, rather than his preferred weapons. She only hoped no one would recognize him.

  They reached the massive arch of the Citadel’s outer gate. A centurion of the Imperial Guard stood there, flanked by a half-dozen Guards in their black armor and purple cloaks.

  “Ah, Tylas,” said Halfdan to the centurion, “you’ve come up in the world, I see.”

  Tylas looked at Halfdan, his expression hard beneath the black helm, and nodded. The man was a centurion of the Imperial Guard…but he was also a Ghost.

  “Master Basil,” said Tylas, looking at Corvalis and Caina.

  “These are my guests,” said Halfdan, “Anton Kularus and Sonya Tornesti, both of Malarae. How are matters here?”

  “Well enough,” said Tylas, lowering his voice. “There are Guards at all the entrances, and I have a century of trustworthy men assigned to watch over the Lord Ambassador’s residence in the city.”

  “Stay vigilant,” said Halfdan. “There already was one attempt on the emir’s life at the Via Triumphalis. The Bostaji of Anshan are after him, and it is possible he has other enemies as well.”

  Tylas nodded. “The emir will remain safe, Master Basil.” He looked at the line of nobles and merchants and magi climbing the ramp and waved his hand. “You may enter. Next!”

  Caina walked through the gates and into the Imperial Citadel’s outer courtyard. The great white mass of the Citadel rose up before her, domes and towers and basilicas and ramparts blended together in a huge mass of stone. The banners of the Empire, a golden eagle upon a purple field, flew from the towers. Already hundreds of guests filled the courtyard, lords and merchants and master magi in their stark black robes. Many guests had brought a few servants and bodyguards of their own, but Imperial Guards stood everywhere, keeping watch from the walls and the entrances into the Citadel proper. Globes of enspelled glass threw bright light from the ramparts. It would take a very bold assassin to try anything here.

  Just as it would take a bold assassin to shoot Tanzir Shahan upon the Via Triumphalis.

  “There is the Emperor,” said Halfdan.

  For the first time, Caina looked at the Emperor she served.

  Alexius Naerius, Emperor of Nighmar, stood on the steps to the main doors of the Citadel proper, Tanzir at his side. He was a tall man in his sixties, clad in the white-trimmed purple robe of the Emperor. Caina thought he looked…tired. Sad, even. The most powerful lords in the Empire stood clustered around him. Caina saw Corbould Maraeus, Titus Iconias, and a dozen others, along with the heads of the merchant collegia and several of the high magi.

  Corvalis grunted. “Shorter than I expected.”

  “Who?” said Caina. “The Emperor?”

  “Aye,” said Corvalis. “But my father hates him, so he must be a decent fellow.”

  “The emir should be safe enough,” said Caina, looking at the score of scowling Imperial Guards near the Emperor, hands on their sword hilts, eyes scanning the crowds with ceaseless vigilance. “Anyone who tries for the emir will have to deal with the Imperial Guards.”

  And the Immortals, for that matter. Six of the skull-helmed soldiers stood near the emir, no doubt a concession to his rank.

  “True,” said Halfdan. “Unless, of course, the Shahenshah decides the best way to continue the war is to have both the Emperor and the emir murdered in the Imperial Citadel.”

  Caina hadn’t considered that. “Someone is always trying to kill the Emperor.”

  “Aye,” said Halfdan. “Tanzir is as safe here as anywhere in Malarae…but there is no such thing as perfect safety. Remain vigilant. Come, Master Anton. It’s time to mingle.”

  They moved through the crowds, Halfdan and Corvalis greeting the other merchants, Caina keeping an expression of vapid boredom on her face. She was glad she had taken the time to bathe and change her gown after fighting the Bostaji. Now she wore a sheer cloth-of-gold gown that utterly failed to match her dyed hair…though Sonya Tornesti would think it matched her hair. Jewels glittered on her fingers and at her ears, a silver chain dipping into the gown’s low neckline. The sleeves and bodice felt tight against her skin, too tight to conceal weapons, though she had knives hidden in her boots, and the curved ghostsilver dagger rested in a sheath at her belt.

  She listened as Halfdan and Corvalis discussed the state of trade with the merchants, nodding in the right place, laughing at the jokes whether or not they were funny. But her eyes roved over the crowds, watching for any sign of the Bostaji or other assassins. Both native-born Anshani and Istarish men usually had bronze-colored skin and dark hair and eyes, and an Anshani Bostaji could pass unnoticed among the emir’s guards and advisors. But like the Kindred, the Bostaji recruited men from every nation and tribe. For all she knew an
assassin could look like one of the cold-eyed barbarians from beyond the Imperial Pale in the far north.

  Muravin played his part well. He stood expressionless at Corvalis’s left, his eyes likewise scanning the crowds for any sign of threat. Once Ibrahmus Sinan drew near, his white robes glittering in the light from the globes, and Caina feared that he would recognize Muravin. But Sinan’s eyes passed over them without recognition, and the Alchemist continued through the crowd.

  Caina caught Muravin’s eyes as Corvalis and Halfdan listened to a grain merchant discuss the cost of shipping, and the former gladiator gave a tiny shake of his head. He had not seen anyone he suspected of sending the Kindred after him, nor had he seen any potential assassins. That was a relief.

  Still, if it came to violence, Caina was glad she had brought the former gladiator.

  “And the rate of shipping from Cyrioch has increased by at least nine and a half percent,” said the grain merchant, his voice dour.

  “Egregious,” said Halfdan with a shake of his head.

  “Truly,” said the merchant, “and…”

  The Emperor climbed to the top of the steps to the Citadel’s main doors, and a hush fell over the crowd.

  “Men of the Empire,” said Alexius Naerius, his voice hoarse, yet still commanding. “Men of Istarinmul. I bid you welcome to the Imperial Citadel, to the very heart of the Empire of Nighmar. In the last year our Empire has been ravaged by war, both upon the land and the sea. Yet our Legions have defended us with stern valor, and we have not surrendered an inch of land to our foes.”

  That overlooked the fleet Kylon Shipbreaker had destroyed upon the western sea. But truth, Halfdan often said, was of only limited utility in politics.

  “But enemies can once again become friends,” said the Emperor, “and the Padishah of Istarinmul has seen wisdom, and dispatched his cousin Tanzir Shahan, the emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars, to negotiate a treaty of peace between our two nations.”