The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Caina nodded.

  “Ark will be your contact for the Ghost circle in Rasadda,” continued Halfdan. “They will be able to move among the commoners and the native Saddai, while you deal with the rich and the nobles.” He turned to Ark. “Listen well to our young Countess here. She’s quite clever.”

  Caina saw a flicker of doubt in the grim-faced man’s eyes, but he nodded.

  “Countess, you’ll want to listen to Ark. He knows Rasadda and the Saddai quite well.” Halfdan’s cold smile flashed again. “And he’s quite a useful man to have in a fight.”

  Ark smiled once, showing his teeth.

  “Once we get to Rasadda,” said Caina, “where should we start?”

  “Go to the Inn of Mirrors, located in the great square outside the Imperial Basilica,” said Halfdan. “Ark knows the way, I’m sure. A man named Narmer will arrange rooms for you and await you there. He’s a member of the city’s Ghost circle. He will give you the latest news, and assist you in whatever way you deem necessary.”

  “All right,” said Caina. She finished her wine and set the goblet aside.

  “Get some rest,” said Halfdan. “We’ll want you to look the part of an Imperial Countess in the morning. After all, your servants have just deserted you, and you’re going to have to hire some new maids.”

  ###

  Caina went to her room and fell sleep.

  When she slept, the same old dream returned to her.

  She was a girl of eleven again, creeping through her father’s library, her heart pounding with terror. His chair faced the window, and she saw his limp hand resting on the armrest, the heavy signet ring glittering on his finger.

  As she had a thousand times before, she looked at his face.

  But this time his body erupted into raging, howling flames, his flesh melting in sizzling rivulets.

  Chapter 3 - Countess Marianna Nereide

  Three days later, Caina swept into to the Inn’s common room, her boots clicking against the stone floor. She wore the clothes of an Imperial noblewoman; a dark blue gown to match her eyes, the waist and bodice laced tight, the drooping sleeves marked with intricate embroidery. Jewels glittered on her fingers and at her throat, and her black hair had been done up in an elaborate crown of braids. When she had looked over herself in the mirror, she had been pleased to see that she looked the very image of an Imperial noblewoman of Nightmarian descent; haughty, pale, and proud.

  She still carried her father’s ring on a silver necklace. And she still kept a pair of daggers hidden in her boots. Caina never liked to go anywhere without at least one weapon. It made her uneasy.

  The common room had filled up with teamsters and peddlers, all of them devouring breakfast and drinking cheap wine. Halfdan hurried from table to table, barking orders to the girls he had hired to serve tables. He played the part of the fawning innkeeper to the hilt. Caina swept across the room, her skirts swishing.

  “Innkeeper,” she said, interrupting his conversation with a trio of rough-looking teamsters, “whatever is the meaning of this?”

  Halfdan turned and made a quick bow. “My lady. Is something amiss?”

  “Yes there is,” said Caina. “What is all this racket? Where did all these people come from? I paid you for peace and quiet, not for the rabble to trouble my ears with their carousing.”

  “Begging my lady’s pardon,” said Halfdan, bowing again. He had even managed to work a cringing whine into his voice, “but a caravan is leaving before midday, and the caravan master ordered everyone to eat before he set out.”

  “A caravan, you say?” said Caina. “Where is it headed?”

  “Rasadda, my lady, the capital of this province,” said Halfdan.

  “I know where the capital of the province is,” said Caina. “I have been thinking of taking ship from Rasadda back to the Imperial capital. Where is the master of this caravan? I would speak with him.”

  “Over there, my lady,” said Halfdan, pointing at a balding man by the door, “his name is Rendower, and I’m sure he would be most honored for you to travel with him.”

  “Of course he would be honored,” said Caina. She waved her hand. “You have leave to depart, and to prepare my breakfast.”

  “Of course, my lady,” said Halfdan.

  “Wait,” said Caina. “Have you seen my captain of guard? If the fool has wandered off to drink, Father will have harsh words for him.”

  “There, my lady,” said Halfdan, “and I fear that he is indeed drinking.”

  “Oh, bother,” said Caina. “That is all.”

  She left, making her way towards Ark. He stood in the corner, clad in mail and leather, a surcoat with the sigil of House Nereide over his armor. He still wore his broadsword in a scabbard at his belt, and a heavy shield hung over his shoulder.

  Among the teamsters and peddlers, he stood out like a wolf among sheep.

  “There you are,” said Caina. “Why are you here? Father will be cross if I tell him that you’ve been drinking.”

  Ark’s jaw twitched, just a bit. He had not seen her dressed as Countess Marianna Nereide before. The cold eyes flicked over her once, and then he bowed, stiff and precise.

  “Countess,” he said. “What do you command?”

  “Come with me,” she said. “I’ve decided that we shall journey to Rasadda, and I think it would be best if we travel with this caravan.”

  Ark said nothing, and followed as she walked towards Rendower.

  “You,” said Caina in Caerish. “Merchant.” She extended her hand towards him. “Your name?”

  Rendower took one look and scowled at her. Then he took a better look at her, and he made a hasty bow. “Lady.” He kissed her ring. “I am Rendower, a merchant of Rasadda.”

  “You have the honor of addressing Countess Marianna Nereide,” said Caina, doing her very best not to wipe her hand on the side of her gown. “I understand you are leading a caravan to Rasadda?”

  “Yes, Lady,” said Rendower, straightening up. “A load of salted fish. If I sell the salted cod and haddock in the Rasadda bazaars before summer comes, I shall turn a fine profit.”

  “I wish to travel to Rasadda myself,” said Caina.

  “The city is quite a sight, my lady,” said Rendower. “Wait until you see the Burning Pyramids, or the Great Pyramid of Corazain. You will never forget the sight, I promise you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Caina. “I desire to travel with your caravan. The Saddai plains can be dangerous, or so I have been told, and my captain of guard simply insists that we travel with a caravan. He nags like an old woman sometime.”

  Rendower blinked. “We…ah, should be honored to have you join us, my lady. Though my teamsters and hired guards are a rough lot, and…unfit to spend time in a lady’s presence.”

  “That is quite all right,” said Caina with an airy wave of her hand. “Father sent my captain here for just that purpose. Should anyone offer me discourtesy, Ark will teach them the error of their ways. Won’t you, Ark?”

  Ark said nothing, but his scowl spoke eloquently.

  Rendower swallowed. “Very good. We leave in another hour.”

  “Splendid,” said Caina. “My coachman and my maids shall be along with my baggage presently.”

  She turned on her heel and walked away, Ark trailing after her.

  “You seem different this morning, Countess,” murmured Ark.

  “Why, yes,” said Caina, “that is rather the point, wouldn’t you say? Now let us find some breakfast before we depart.”

  ###

  Rendower’s caravan left in another hour, sixty wagons heavy with barrels of salted fish, dozens of pack mules loaded with supplies, a small army of teamsters, and his mercenary guards.

  Caina rode in the coach.

  Where Halfdan had found the coach, Caina had no idea. It looked shabby, the sort of thing one might expect an impoverished lesser noble to own, yet the doors had been painted with the Nereide coat of arms. An old coachman named Lasko sat in the
driver’s seat, muttering to the horses, while Ark sat besides him, broadsword resting between his knees. Caina sat inside with her new maids, listening to them chatter.

  She watched the countryside as the caravan rolled eastward. The Saddai plains stretched away to the north, broad and flat and rolling. Most of the land had been under cultivation for long centuries, and Caina saw dozens of small farms. The Alqaarin Sea gleamed to the south, and the Imperial highway wound its way through the plains like a white snake.

  The conversation of her maids bored her, but Caina tried to draw them out anyway. She had three of them. Anya and Julia were both younger than Caina, talkative, excitable, and not terribly bright. Cornelia was twice her age, and had outlived two husbands, both of whom had been lazy and shiftless, or so Cornelia claimed.

  “I’m just glad to be getting out of Mors Crisius, my lady,” said Julia. “I’m honored to have taken service with you, of course, but still…”

  “Why?” said Caina. “Why should you wish to leave so earnestly?”

  Anya dropped her voice. “The murder, my lady.”

  “Murder?” said Caina.

  Julia’s voice fell even lower. “Publius Vanio was found dead in his townhouse. All of his guards had been slaughtered, and Vanio himself was burned to death in his bed.”

  “How simply dreadful!” said Caina. “Who would do such a terrible thing?”

  “It was no less than he deserved,” said Cornelia, her sour tone matching her expression. “Old Vanio was up to his arms in the slave trade. Everyone knew it. High time he got what was coming to him.”

  “Slavery?” said Caina. “But that’s illegal.”

  “Troubled times,” said Cornelia. “That’s what it is, troubled times. You get all sorts of nastiness in times like these.”

  “What did you mean?” said Caina.

  “It’s not my place to trouble my lady with such talk,” said Cornelia.

  Something in the older woman’s voice suddenly reminded Caina of her mother, and she felt a surge of dislike. She pushed it aside. “You may speak freely. When my lord father sent me on this tour of the provinces, he wanted me to learn about the Empire. How else shall I learn?”

  “If my lady insists,” said Cornelia. “It’s those filthy Saddai, if you ask me. I’m not an Imperial citizen, but my folk came here with the Legions, and we’ve always kept to the ways of the Empire.” Her face twisted with disdain. “But those Saddai. They have outlandish ways, and they pray to that fire god of theirs. Little wonder things are so grim. The rich get fat and the poor starve. It’s those filthy Saddai, I say.”

  Julia and Anya nodded their agreement.

  “I even hear that the Saddai burn people alive to please their god,” said Cornelia. “Maybe that’s what got old Vanio in the end, when his wickedness turned upon him.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caina. “It seems that all is not well in Saddai Province.”

  “The Lord Governor is too lenient with them,” said Cornelia. “He ought to give them a good whipping.”

  Caina considered this in silence.

  “May I also speak freely, my lady?” said Julia.

  Caina inclined her head.

  “Did your lord father send you to tour the provinces,” she said, starting to blush, “or to find a husband?”

  “Hold your impudent tongue!” said Cornelia.

  Caina lifted a hand. “It is all right. My lord father…well, he said he would not be displeased if I should convince some suitable young man to pay me court.”

  “Some Lord of the Empire?” said Julia. “Maybe even a High Lord?”

  “Bother,” said Cornelia. “A Lord has more pride than sense, and more honor than money.” She shook her finger. “Marry a merchant with money, my lady. Money is all a man is good for. You’re quite comely, and you should use your beauty before it fades. If you put your mind to it, you can have the richest merchant in Rasadda wrapped around your finger within a moon’s turn. That will please your lord father, I’m sure.”

  “Yes,” repeated Caina, “I’m sure.”

  The talk turned to husbands and dowries and bride gifts. Caina listened with half an ear. The thought of her father brought up old pain, and Cornelia’s resemblance to her mother summoned up the old rage.

  But her thoughts turned to Cornelia’s sneering contempt for the Saddai, and the dead man lying burned in his bed.

  ###

  The next morning, Caina rose before anyone else and walked a short distance from the caravan’s encampment, the high grasses rustling around her riding skirts.

  She had a routine she liked to follow in the morning, whenever the demands of her duty allowed.

  She practiced her forms.

  The Ghosts’ style of open-handed fighting, Halfdan had told her, had evolved from several different forms. The Spinning Blade of the Anshani, the Three Rings of the Disali hillmen, the Storm Dance of the Kyracians. The Ghosts had encountered them all, and learned from them.

  She had been practicing for years, ever since Halfdan had taken her into the Ghosts, and she moved through the forms with quick grace. Open-palm strike, closed fist, high kick, sweeping kick, the left dodge, the right throw, followed by the throat strike and the wrist throw. She took the forms slowly at first, stretching her muscles, and then faster, until her arms and legs wove blurring designs around her.

  Her arm pulled back for a palm strike, and Caina saw Ark watching her. He wore his mail, leather, and cloak, his hand resting near the hilt of his broadsword. Caina finished the form and waited as Ark crossed the grasses to join her.

  “Those unarmed combat forms are interesting tricks,” he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes were cold, weighing.

  “They have their uses,” said Caina.

  Ark shook his head. “They are a game. Little good they will do you against an armored man with a blade.”

  “I am half a foot shorter than you and probably half your weight,” said Caina. “So an enemy will expect me to be helpless. If I can catch a foe off-guard, even for a second, that is often enough to win a fight.”

  Ark titled his head to the side, his cold eyes glinting. “You…sound different. Your accent has completely changed.”

  “That is the point,” said Caina.

  “Is it so easy for you to be the Countess one moment, and then a Ghost the next?”

  “It wasn’t at first,” said Caina, “but I’ve had time to practice.”

  Ark continued to stare at her. In another man, Caina would have interpreted this as lust. Instead, she suspected that Ark had started to hate her.

  “You don’t like me very much,” she said, after a moment, “do you?”

  “Does that displease you?”

  “Not particularly,” said Caina. “We are both Ghosts, servants of the Emperor, and your opinion of me matters very little so long as we both perform our duties well.” Her voice turned cold. “But, do unburden yourself to me. What have I done to offend you?”

  “When we reach Rasadda,” said Ark, ignoring the question, “what will you do?”

  Caina shrugged. “We will try to find whoever is behind these burnings.”

  “Perhaps I have not been clear,” said Ark. “What good are you to us?”

  “I have a knack for finding things out,” said Caina, “or so Halfdan tells me.”

  Ark scowled.

  Caina waited.

  “A knack,” repeated Ark. “You seem to have a knack for masquerading as an empty-headed Countess, and nothing more.”

  “Does that offend you? The Ghosts are the Emperor’s spies, not his warriors,” said Caina.

  “We asked Halfdan for help,” said Ark. “For nearly a year now these…burnings have been plaguing Rasadda. If the situation is not taken in hand, the city will revolt. And Halfdan sends us,” his mouth twisted with distaste, “he sends us an actress.”

  Disdain crept into her voice. “And what will you do? Seize people at random and demand the name of the murderers, or you’ll cut thei
r throats? That should work very well.”

  “And how would you find things out?”

  Caina shrugged. “I watch. I listen. I observe. That has served me well so far.”

  “Has it?” Ark’s scowl darkened. “Then what do you observe about me, Countess?”

  “Very well,” said Caina. She looked him in the eye. “You are in your middle thirties, I think, and were born in one of the Caerish provinces.”

  “Halfdan told you that.”

  “No,” said Caina, “your accent is constant, whatever language you speak, and you seem unable to rid yourself of it. You used to be in the Legions.”

  Ark blinked, and then tapped his weapon. “The sword, of course.”

  “Only legionaries and veterans use that style of broadsword. And I can see the scars on your left arm from your shield. You lied about your age to get into the Legions, didn’t you?”

  Ark flinched.

  “You’re in your middle thirties,” Caina continued, “and you must have served your full twenty year term of service. Desertion in the Emperor’s armies is punishable by crucifixion, after all. And if you had deserted and escaped, Halfdan would not have let you join the Ghosts. He hates deserters. Incidentally, Halfdan himself recruited you into the Ghosts, didn’t he? He only tells his proper name to those he recruits individually.” Caina tapped her lips with a finger. “The age of admission to the Legions is sixteen. So I would suppose you lied about your age and joined at fourteen or fifteen. Probably fourteen.”

  Ark scowled and turned to go. “You’ve made your point, Countess.”

  Caina stepped in front of him. “Don’t you want to know more, my captain? Surely you can keep secrets from some silly frivolous noblewoman.” Something warned her to stop, but Ark had irritated her, so she kept talking. “You were in the Eighteenth Legion. That Legion tattoo on your right bicep? You should do a better job of concealing it. And I would guess you made at least centurion rank, perhaps even the first centurion of a cohort. You snapped out enough commands at the teamsters during our departure. Which explains why you are so annoyed that you have to take orders from some silly Countess.”