And against men like Maglarion, she realized.
The thought pleased her.
###
The Imperial Highway climbed ever higher into the hills. Soon they left the Highway, and made their way along narrow rock-cut roads and graveled paths.
They stopped in small villages to buy supplies. The Disali houses were tall and narrow, no doubt to conserve space, since the hills had very little in the way of flat land. The villagers themselves wore brown and green, colors that matched the hills around them. At every village men stopped to greet Halfdan, and carry out long conversations in the Disali tongue. Sometimes they gave him bundles of letters, which he took and secured in his mule's saddlebags.
"Why were you talking about wine?" said Caina.
Halfdan blinked in surprise. "You understand Disali?"
"Yes," said Caina. "It was in..."
"One of your father's books, yes," said Halfdan. "I should learn not to underestimate you."
"I don't know about that," said Caina. "But why talk about wine?"
Halfdan smiled. "I used to be a vintner. Perhaps I keep my hand in the trade."
"It's...a code, isn't it?" said Caina. "He was giving you messages."
"The Disali vineyards make some of the best wine in the Empire, and perhaps the world," said Halfdan.
Caina decided that meant yes.
"My father always said he preferred Caerish wine," said Caina.
"No, too sweet," said Halfdan. "Disali wine has more vigor to it."
Komnene laughed. "Careful, child. If you get Halfdan started about wine, you'll never have another moment of silence."
"It's only appropriate," said Halfdan. "We've almost reached our destination. Where you will begin your training."
Caina looked up.
"A vineyard," said Halfdan.
###
The reached the Vineyard the next day.
It sat atop a high crag, overlooking a narrow valley, a fast river bubbling and rushing past it. And at first glance, Caina thought it was a fortress, not a vineyard. Terraces climbed their way up the crag's side, surrounded by a stout wall of lichen-spotted gray stone. Watchtowers stood at the corners of the walls, and Caina saw armed guards pacing with crossbows at the ready. The fortified gatehouse looked as if it could repel a Legion attack, and Caina saw a stream bubbling from within the walls, no doubt coming from a cave within the terraces.
Hidden lairs and tunnels, Halfdan had said, and she wondered how much of the Ghosts had hidden beneath the towers and walls.
Yet she saw the grape vines growing on trellises upon the terraces. The place looked beautiful, sitting among the soaring hills and the falling water.
"The Vineyard," said Halfdan, leading the mules up the narrow path to the gatehouse.
"So it's a fake?" said Caina.
His look was almost reproving. "Not at all. It's a working vineyard, and the vintages fetch good prices in the markets of Malarae and Arzaxia."
"But the Ghosts...work here?" said Caina.
"Yes," said Halfdan. "The cultivation of grapes is not the only thing that happens in the Vineyard. Here, you will learn to be a Ghost nightfighter."
The gates swung open to meet them, and Caina followed Halfdan, Riogan, and Komnene inside.
Chapter 10 - Knives and Poisons
Six weeks later, Caina awoke before dawn, as she did every day.
She slept in a small room built in the base of the Vineyard's outer wall, one that had no doubt once been used for storage. It had enough room for a narrow bed, a chest to store her possessions, and a stool.
And just enough room to do her exercises.
Caina stood, stretched, and began the exercises that Akragas had taught her, moving her arms and legs through the forms. The middle palm strike. The unarmed throw. The leg sweep. The high kick. The low kick. Blocks, high, middle, and low.
When she finished, her heart was racing, and a light sheen of sweat covered her forehead. But she was not tired. Not nearly as tired as she had been after the first lesson.
That was good.
After she finished the exercises, Caina dressed in a gray shirt and gray pants. She remained barefoot. At first, not wearing shoes had felt strange and uncomfortable, but after a month and a half at the Vineyard, it seemed natural.
Her father's signet ring went on a slender cord around her neck, the heavy gold resting against her chest. She kept it with her, most of the time.
Then Caina left her room for the Vineyard's lowest terrace. She saw no one else. The workers would not begin tending the vines until after sunrise, and the Ghosts who came here on various errands had not yet awakened.
Except for the guards on the wall. They never seemed to sleep.
Caina took a deep breath and started to run.
She sprinted along the terrace, feet slapping against the flagstones, past the vats and the winepresses. Then up the steep stone stairs to the next terrace, and she darted along its length.
And then up to the next terrace.
And the next.
Finally, she reached the top of the seventh and final terrace, her heart pounding, her breath heaving. Caina slowed to a walk, pacing back and forth at the base of the high watchtower crowning the final terrace. From here she had a splendid view of the valley, with the churning river below and the white spray of the waterfall above.
Akragas waited for her beneath the watchtower.
He was an old man, with bushy white eyebrows and scraggly white hair. He wore a white shirt and black pants, the sleeves of his shirt stark against the sun-bronzed skin of his face and hands.
"Well, child," he said in Kyracian, "your time is improving. When you first ran the terraces, I had time to eat a fine breakfast and take a pleasant nap afterwards. I still have time to eat a fine breakfast, but only three courses instead of four."
"That is...doubtful," said Caina in Kyracian. He had been teaching her the language, which was similar to Cyrican, but she still had trouble with it. "You eat...like a monk. Nothing but oats and...wine that is watery."
"Watered wine, you mean, impudent girl," said Akragas.
"Yes," said Caina.
He stared at her.
She stared back, and waited.
His right hand blurred, swinging towards her face. Caina hopped back, his fingertips blurring inches from her nose. His left hand came up, and Caina caught it in a high block, beating away his palm.
And while she was distracted, his right hand came up and slapped her across the cheek.
"Better," said Akragas, "but still not satisfactory."
###
"You will have to learn to fight," Halfdan had said during her first day at the Vineyard, "and Akragas will teach you to fight without weapons."
Akragas looked her with eyes full of disdain.
"You are a pampered noble child, yes?" said Akragas in accented Caerish, "soft and weak. The Ghosts should teach her to be perfumed and pretty, to lure our enemies into her bed when she is older. Until then, waste not my time with her."
"I used to be a noble child," said Caina in Caerish, "and now...now I don't know what I am."
Akragas grunted, reached down, took her chin in his hard hand. He titled her face back, looked into her eyes.
"Ah," he said. "You have known pain, yes? That is good. Life is pain. You may either let it break you...or you may let it make you stronger. Perhaps your pain will make you stronger. Or perhaps you will let it break you." He looked at Halfdan. "Very well. I shall teach her."
"Splendid," said Halfdan. "Caina, listen to him. He is a hard teacher, but a good one."
He left, leaving Caina alone with Akragas.
"Halfdan tells me you are very observant," said Akragas. "So. What do you observe about me?"
Caina shrugged. "You're Kyracian. I can tell from your accent. And...I think you used to be a soldier, one who spent a lot of time on a ship."
"Very good," said Akragas. "Perhaps you are observant enough to see this coming?"
<
br /> He slapped her. Not very hard, but Caina stumbled, losing her balance. His hand had moved so fast that she hadn't even seen it.
"Why did you do that?" said Caina, rubbing her cheek.
"To see if you could block it," said Akragas.
"You could have warned me, at least," said Caina, scowling at him.
Akragas scoffed. "Little girl, I did warn you. My feet said that I would slap you. My shoulders said that I would slap you. My hands all but shouted that I would slap you. If you are to deaf to hear...well, then it is your own fault. You should listen better."
"Then teach me," said Caina.
Akragas nodded. "Very well. Let us see if you can learn to hear or not."
After the first session, she was so sore and bruised that she could barely sleep. Which wasn't all that bad, considering it meant no nightmares.
###
Six weeks after that first lesson, she sparred with Akragas, as she had every morning since.
"Faster!" barked Akragas, swinging his fist in a blow that Caina just managed to avoid. "You will be faster! You will never be as strong as a man. So you must end your fights quickly."
"I must never fight fair," said Caina, thinking of her father.
"Yes!" said Akragas. "That is true. You must never fight fairly! Only fools fight fairly. All men have their strengths and their weaknesses. You must pit your strengths against your enemies' weaknesses, always."
Sometimes he talked about history. The Ashbringers had forbidden the Disali to bear weapons. So the Disali had developed different forms of fighting, learning ways to transform their hands and feet into lethal weapons. The Kyracians had a similar system of fighting, one that they called the storm dance.
"These are ancient traditions I am teaching you, yes?" said Akragas. "Very old. And you will respect them! For they shall make you strong, if you follow them. And faster, child! Your enemies will not pause for you!"
He kicked at her. Caina caught his ankle between her hands and twisted. Akragas rolled with the movement, and his hand caught her on the side of the head. Caina stumbled, losing her grip on his foot. Akragas caught his balance and swung around, his leg sweeping beneath Caina's.
She lost her balance and landed upon her rump.
"We are done now, I think," said Akragas. "It is time for my breakfast."
"With only three courses?" said Caina. "Why bother?"
"When you leave me with no time for breakfast, then you may boast," said Akragas, and walked away.
###
Every morning without fail, Caina trained with Akragas, learning how to fight without weapons.
For the rest of the day, she learned other things from other men and women.
One day Halfdan introduced her to a tall man with black hair and a sweeping black mustache. He wore black pants with red stripes and a bright red vest that left his well-muscled arms bare. He looked like one of the traveling carnival performers that had passed through Aretia from time to time. She had laughed and clapped at their tricks, at feats of juggling and acrobatics and knife-throwing.
"This is Sandros," said Halfdan. "He will teach you to fight with knives, when necessary."
"And so I shall," said Sandros, speaking Caerish with a booming voice. "All of Akragas’s fancy tricks are well and good. But when you need to kill a man, and kill him quickly, there's nothing better for the job than a good sharp blade. Come. We shall learn in a civilized environment!"
A massive villa occupied the Vineyard's sixth tier, and Sandros led her to the villa's courtyard garden, a leather bundle under his arm. He set the bundle on a stone bench and unwrapped it. Dozens of blades rested in the bundle, the steel gleaming.
Caina flinched. She remembered lying shackled in the darkness below the earth, Maglarion lecturing the magi with that knife glittering like ice in his hand...
"What?" said Sandros, lifting a dagger. "Do not be afraid! I will not hurt you. I am a very wicked man, as many lonely noblewomen will attest, but I certainly will not hurt a child...ah, I see. Halfdan did not tell us where he found you, but someone has hurt you with knives, yes?"
Caina nodded.
"Well, then," said Sandros. He reversed the dagger, took Caina's hand, and pressed the handle into her grasp. "You should not be afraid of knives."
"Why not?" said Caina, her throat dry.
"Because knives, they teach respect," said Sandros. "All the techniques that Akragas will teach you, all the moves with your hands and feet, they are useful, but they are limited. Most men, they will always be stronger than you will ever be."
"Akragas says I must never fight fair," said Caina.
"True," said Sandros. "Hand to hand, it will be hard for you to defeat a man of equal skill. But blades...ah, blades, are the great leveler. In a skilled hand, a knife can kill anyone. And knives, as I said, teach respect. A man may view you as a victim, as prey to be exploited...until you hold a knife to his throat. Or to his balls." He chuckled. "Then he will think of you rather differently."
Caina frowned, examining the dagger in a new light.
"There," said Sandros, pointing. "Do you see that flower, on that bush? About twenty paces away?"
Caina nodded. "What about it?"
"I will show you something," said Sandros. He lifted a slender, flat knife from the bundle, its blade as long as its handle. "Knives have many different uses. Observe."
He flung his arm back, his entire body snapping like a bowstring, and hurled the knife. It shot through the air and neatly snipped the flower from its branch.
Caina blinked. "You..."
Sandros sighed. "Ah, the trick is more impressive when I can hit an apple resting upon the head of some comely young maiden, but you see the point? Why fight hand to hand when you can kill quickly with a blade? Or from a distance with a throwing knife?"
"Show me," said Caina.
"I will," said Sandros, handing her a dagger with blunted edges. "Now, you hold it like this...no, like that. Yes. Good! First, you..."
###
Sometimes Caina spent the afternoon with Komnene, who also had things to teach her.
"This is called redshade," said Komnene, lifting a small jar of dried leaves. "An herb, it grows in the Disali hills, and on the shores of the Inner Sea, but nowhere else. Mixed with the juice of the Anshani southwood tree, it is a useful medicine for reliving the pain of arthritis. But taken in too large a dose, undiluted, it causes hallucinations, delirium, and eventually death, if the body is not purged with a strong emetic."
Komnene had an infirmary in the villa, a spacious room with three beds and wooden shelves sagging beneath countless jars and vials of dried herbs. A shrine to Minaerys rested in the corner, candles standing over a small silver bowl.
"And this is blackroot," said Komnene, indicating a glass vial half-full of dark powder. "This only grows on the borders of the Cyrican desert, far to the south. It is quite rare, and most expensive. It has absolutely no medicinal use, but can be used to brew a poison of exceptional lethality."
"That's what you used on the magi, isn't it?" said Caina, remembering the dead men lying in the vaulted cellar. The foam around their mouths had been the same color as the powder in the vial.
"Yes," said Komnene. Guilt flickered over her face for a moment, and she glanced at the shrine to Minaerys.
Then she composed herself, and kept talking.
On other days, Komnene treated injuries. Sometimes injured or wounded Ghosts came to the Vineyard, or men and women from the nearby villages, and Komnene treated them. She taught Caina how to clean wounds, how to suture and stitch, how to set broken bones, how to prepare poultices to prevent infection and draw out poison.
"Do you still pray to Minaerys?" Caina asked one afternoon, as she blended medicines under Komnene's watchful eye.
Komnene smiled. "You deduced that from the shrine, no doubt."
"Why?" said Caina. "You were expelled from the Temple."
"Because I still believe in Minaerys," said Komnene. "In hi
s teachings."
"But...the Temple forbids its physicians to make poison," said Caina. "And you poisoned that necromancer, and all those magi and slavers."
"Yes," said Komnene. She closed her eyes, thought for a moment. "I...think the Temple is wrong. We have a responsibility to use our knowledge and our abilities as best as we can. And for me to stand by and to do nothing when men like that necromancer have their way with the innocent...no, I cannot do it. I cannot, Caina. I believe that Minaerys wants his followers to use their abilities for the greatest good...and if that means poisoning murderous magi, then so be it."
"But you're not entirely sure," said Caina.
"No," said Komnene. She stared at the shrine for a moment. "It is a dark world, Caina, and the right thing to do...it is so hard to see." She shrugged. "If I had never brewed that poison, I could have stayed in the Temple of Minaerys, and my conscience would be clear."
"But then I would be dead by now," said Caina. Or, worse, still chained in that dark cellar, screaming as Maglarion came at her with his knife again and again.
"Perhaps a heavy conscience is a small price to pay to save a life," said Komnene.
They resumed mixing medicines.
###
And sometimes Halfdan himself spent the afternoon teaching her things.
He often left on business, but when he returned, he took the time to teach her. And Halfdan was far more important to the Ghosts than she had understood. At first she thought he had only been a circlemaster, commanding a circle of nightfighters and nightkeepers like Riogan and Komnene. But many couriers and messengers arrived with letters for him, and he was the unquestioned commander of everyone at the Vineyard. Caina realized that Halfdan was one of the high circlemasters, one who commanded the lesser circlemasters.
He was one of the most knowledgeable and dangerous men in the Empire of Nighmar, a man who knew every trick that had ever been used.
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