The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Perhaps,” said Caina, “but where did Gaidan learn pyromancy?”

  Ark said nothing.

  “And Romarion sold a lot of art to the local Magisterium, and received a great deal of money for one piece in particular,” said Caina. “I’d like to know what that was.”

  “I still think you refuse to see the obvious,” Ark said.

  “We can discuss this later,” said Caina. “We’d better get off the streets. Someone might find us here if we loiter.”

  They started back towards the Inn.

  “All this butchery over some damned statues, then,” said Ark, shaking his head.

  “Maybe,” said Caina. “I wonder…”

  “You wonder what?”

  “I wonder,” said Caina, “if Romarion found something…worse.” She shrugged, wrestling with the idea. “There are dozens of nations in the Empire, and all of them had their own arcane traditions until the Magisterium suppressed them. Halfdan has told me of incidents where tomb robbers dug up something that should have remained buried.”

  “Like what?”

  “Some fearsome thing of old sorcery, some enspelled artifact,” said Caina. “Maybe Romarion found something darker than an old statue. A weapon, perhaps. Some sorcerous relic of the old Saddai empire.”

  “Do you have any proof of this?”

  “No,” said Caina. “Just a suspicion.”

  Ark shook his head. “Then…”

  He stopped, reaching for his sword.

  A score of men blocked the street, staring at Ark and Caina. All of the men wore gleaming chain mail beneath jerkins of black leather, polished steel helmets, and armored boots. Broadswords rested ready in their hands, round shields on their left arms. They had the look of seasoned, hardened veterans. Mercenaries, most likely, and competent ones.

  “State your business,” said Ark, pointing with his sword.

  “Right where the old man said he’d be,” said the leader, shaking his head. “Uncanny, I tell you.”

  “Matches the description,” grunted another.

  “What about the other one, the little fellow in the black cloak?” said a third mercenary, looking at Caina with cold eyes.

  “What of him?” said the leader. “Kill them both. Now.”

  Caina just had time to wonder why these men wanted to kill Ark. And then they rushed forward, swords raised.

  Chapter 14 - Riots

  Caina’s arm snapped up, a knife in hand. She took a step backwards, her back arched, her arm flung back, and hurled the knife with all her strength. It flew true, making for the mercenary leader’s face. Or, at least, it would have, had his shield not snapped up, sending the blade spinning into the darkness.

  “Run!” roared Ark.

  Caina spun, snatched the heavy daggers from her boots, and took off after Ark, her cloak snapping out behind her. She heard the heavy pounding of the mercenaries’ boots, and risked a quick look back. Despite their heavy armor, they kept pace.

  “Have to slow them down,” said Ark. “The alley on the right. In there, then turn.”

  Caina nodded. The alley would force the mercenaries to come at them one and two at a time. Within any luck, they could force them off balance, and make their escape. Ark veered to the right, dashing into the alley between two fine houses, and Caina followed, the mercenaries hot on their heels.

  “Now!” said Ark.

  Caina whirled, dropping to one knee as Ark’s broadsword stabbed over her head. The blade plunged into a mercenary’s mouth in a spray of blood and broken teeth, and the man sagged with an agonizing gurgle. Ark struggled to wrench his sword free, and another mercenary sprang at him, sword raised over his head for an overhand blow. Caina sprang to her feet, driving her left dagger into the armpit of the mercenary’s upraised arm. He stiffened, and she slashed her right blade across his throat and stepped back besides Ark. The dying man collapsed across his slain companion, and for a moment the mercenaries hesitated.

  “Kill them both!” roared the leader.

  Another man stabbed at Caina. She jerked to the right, slamming into the wall, and the sword whistled past her. She spun, stepping within his weapon’s reach, and stabbed for his face. But he stepped backwards, his shield coming up, and Caina’s blow clanged away. Caina heard a scream and a gurgle, and another mercenary fell dead atop the others, blocking the narrow alleyway.

  “Run!” shouted Ark. He turned and sprinted, blood falling from his sword, and Caina raced after him, daggers in hand. The far end of the alley opened into another square, below one of the lesser funeral pyramids. A half-dozen streets branched out from that square, and they could escape.

  Or so Caina thought, until more armored mercenaries appeared, fanning out to block their escape.

  They were almost trapped. But Ark roared at the top of his lungs and leapt forward, his broadsword a bloody arc over his head. One mercenary fell dead, the top half of his head reduced to bloody mush, and Ark crashed into the into the rest. They swarmed around him, and one presented his back to Caina, so she took the opportunity to plunge a dagger into his neck. He fell, and Ark wrenched free of the tangle, blood flowing down his jaw. Caina saw more mercenaries racing to meet them, at least a score more, and some of them had crossbows.

  “Go!” Caina shouted. She and Ark ran across the square, Ark moving with a faint hitch to his stride. He must have been wounded in the leg. “Here!” She turned towards a small temple to one of the gods of the Empire – Markoin, the god of soldiers - its white marble stark against the dark Saddai buildings around it. By ancient custom, no blood could be shed within the sanctuary of an Imperial temple. Caina raced up the stairs, Ark following, and darted between the marble columns and into the temple proper. A marble altar stood before a statue of an armored man with a greatsword, the braziers filling the chamber with a dim glow.

  “You there!” A fat young man in formal robes hurried over, his face filled with annoyed chagrin. “Arms are forbidden with a temple. Leave at once.” He turned just as the leader of the mercenaries stormed through the doorway. “What is this? A riot? Take your brawling…”

  The leader ran the priest through, kicked him off the blade, and left him to die on the floor.

  The mercenaries, it seemed, cared little for the ancient custom of sanctuary.

  A crossbow went off, and Ark grunted, his free hand going to his side. Caina rolled as more bolts came whistling through the doorway and bounced off the marble floor. She dropped one dagger, snatched a knife from her belt, came to one knee, and let the blade fly. This time she caught the nearest crossbowman right in the neck. He dropped his weapon, clawing at his throat as the blood welled up. Ark snarled and whipped his broadsword back and forth, but the mercenaries pressed them back.

  “Altar!” shouted Caina. She raced across the temple, jumped up onto the altar, and seized one of the metal braziers, pulling it up after her. The thing was heavy, and almost too hot to hold, even through her gloves. Ark saw her, his eyes going wide, and he sprinted for the altar, a dozen mercenaries trailing after him.

  It gave Caina a lovely target.

  She hurled the brazier at them, a glowing arc of hot coals spilling out. The mercenaries fell back with cries of alarm, throwing up their shields to cover their faces. Fires caught in some of their clothes, and the men beat at the flames with curses. Caina jumped from the altar, swung around the statue of the god, and ran for it, Ark following after her. She went through a doorway and found herself in a comfortable bedroom; the unfortunate priest’s, no doubt. A window opened onto the street. Caina kicked open the shutters, threw herself over the sill, and dropped the six feet to the street. Ark came after, grunting with pain, his face lined with tension.

  “Are you hurt?” said Caina.

  “I’ll manage,” growled Ark. “We have to find a place to hide, now. If they catch up to us again it’s over.”

  “I know, I know,” said Caina, scanning the street. She heard the pounding of boots and the mercenary leader’s angry
shouts. “Follow me. Quickly!”

  A bathhouse stood further down the street, an odd amalgam of Saddai and Imperial architecture. Caina dashed towards it, Ark following. He was slowing, Caina saw, and she wondered how badly he had been hurt. If she did not think of something clever, the mercenaries would kill them both.

  Well. She would just have to be clever, then.

  Caina ran at the door, dropped her shoulder, and slammed into it. She was not heavy, but she had a good deal of momentum, and the door splintered its frame. Caina bounced back several steps and recovered her balance. She saw the mercenaries racing around the temple, swords in hand. Caina kicked in the door and staggered into the bathhouse, Ark behind her.

  The air inside was hot and steamy, the brick walls wet with condensation. Perhaps two dozen men lounged in the steaming waters, several of them dallying with prostitutes. An unkempt Saddai attendant near the door staggered to his feet, eyes wide.

  “You have ruined my door!” he bellowed. “What cause have you for…”

  “Shut up!” said Caina, gesturing with a bloodstained dagger. The attendant went quiet and shrank back into his corner. Caina looked around, saw stairs leading to the second story. She hurried up the slick stairs, trying to keep her balance, and Ark followed.

  She threw open another door and found herself in a large room. Close to forty men crowded the room, all gathered around a speaker on a central podium. None of the men wore their shirts. All of them had the flame tattoo of Corazain upon their bare chests.

  “Damn it,” muttered Ark.

  For a moment the Sons of Corazain stared at her in shocked silence.

  “Who are you?” said the speaker. “Why do you dare to intrude upon this gathering of the servants of the Burning Flame?”

  A wild notion seized Caina.

  “Behold, for I am the wrath of the Emperor!” she roared in her loudest voice. “You have dared to rebel against your lawful sovereign. His patience is great, but you have exhausted it at last, and I have come to bring just retribution upon your heads!”

  They gaped at her. So did Ark.

  “What foolishness is this?” said the man nearest Caina, stepping closer. “There are only two of you!”

  Caina slugged him, the hilt of her dagger cracking into his jaw. The man stumbled back with a cry, spitting blood.

  “Fools!” Caina bellowed. “Perish all!”

  “Kill them!” screamed the speaker. As one of the Sons of Corazain seized weapons and surged towards them.

  “What…” said Ark.

  “Shut up and run!” said Caina, grabbing his arm.

  They stumbled back down the stairs, the Sons of Corazain in hot pursuit, just as the mercenaries stormed into the bathhouse. The attendant fled screaming past the pools, while the patrons and the prostitutes blinked in surprise. Caina leapt down the rest of the stairs and landed with daggers in hand, cloak billowing out behind her.

  “Get them, get them, get them!” yelled the mercenary leader, pointing with his broadsword.

  “Slay these infidels, my brothers,” screamed Caina in Saddaic, “in the name of the Burning Flame and great Corazain!”

  The Sons of Corazain came howling down the stairs and crashed into the shocked mercenaries. Swords rang and men screamed. Caina ducked and dodged and tore her way free of the wild melee, almost losing her balance on the damp floor. She grabbed Ark’s arm and dragged him towards the pools. The bathers stared up at her in alarm.

  “What are you looking at, you fools?” she said. “The Saddai have come to purify their city of prostitutes and their customers! Run, if you value your lives!”

  Naked men and women surged from the water, yelling in fear, and began a panicked run for the exits. The bathhouse erupted into sheer chaos, with the Sons of Corazain howling, the mercenaries screaming orders to each other, and naked bathers fleeing in all directions. Caina tightened her grip on Ark’s arm and threaded her way through the madness. She saw a naked man vanished though a door in the back, followed him, and found herself on the streets. Men were shouting, and Caina saw a troop of militia racing for the bathhouse.

  “Now’s our chance,” said Caina. “Run!”

  She and Ark fled through Rasadda’s streets, taking turns at random, putting distance between themselves and the mercenaries. At last they stopped in the bazaar where Caina had chased Ostros, now closed and empty for the night. Caina slumped against an empty booth, her breath ragged and quick, while Ark slumped to the ground, face wet with sweat.

  Caina opened her mouth to speak, and a strange sound met her ears.

  Ark was laughing.

  She gaped at him. Ever since Caina had met him, she had never seen him so much as chuckle. He barely smiled. Yet now he was shaking with laughter, his cold eyes alight with wild mirth.

  “What the devil are you laughing about?” said Caina.

  “Did you see their faces?” said Ark. “When…when you told the Sons of Corazain to kill the mercenaries? Gods! I have never seen men so surprised. And when…and when you told the prostitutes that the Saddai had come to kill them.” He almost doubled over, still shaking. “We ought to be dead! A dozen times over. Yet you talked them into fighting each other! Gods!” Another burst of laughter erupted from his mouth.

  “I fail to see how this is possibly funny,” snapped Caina.

  Ark stared at her, still chuckling.

  Caina stared back at him. All at once she remembered the expression of stupefied shock on the Saddai man’s face when she had punched him, and she found herself chuckling with Ark. Then the sheer absurdity of their escape struck her full force, and she began to laugh. Ark saw her laughing, which made him laugh, which made her laugh harder.

  It took a while to calm down.

  “How…how did you know the Sons of Corazain would be meeting upstairs?” said Ark.

  “I didn’t!” said Caina.

  They looked at each other, and both burst into laughter again.

  “You’re a madwoman,” said Ark, wiping sweat from his brow. He laughed once more, and shook his head. “An utter madwoman.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caina. She tugged down the mask concealing her face for a moment, and grinned at him. “But a madwoman who’s still alive. As are you.”

  Ark snorted and shook his head. “I cannot argue with that.”

  “Come,” said Caina, standing and returning her mask to its place, “let’s get back to the Inn. We need to get off the streets.”

  He nodded, and they vanished into the night.

  ###

  “Stop whining,” said Caina, giving the needle another tug.

  Ark grunted, but did not move.

  Caina sat cross-legged on the massive bed, Ark lying facedown besides her, his trousers off. He had taken a nasty gash to the hip, and another to the back of his thigh, and could not reach the wounds himself. So Caina had cleaned them with boiling wine, and was now stitching them closed.

  “You’re not very good at this,” said Ark.

  “No,” said Caina, “but good enough. Finding a surgeon would attract attention. And you can’t do it yourself. So lie still and stop complaining. If you wake up the maids, we’ll have to explain why I’m dressed all in black and armed to the teeth. And we’ll also have to explain why you’re lying half-naked on my bed.”

  Ark’s lips twitched. “I’m not sure which would be harder.”

  “Let’s not find out,” said Caina.

  She worked in silence for a moment. Ark had numerous old scars on the thick muscles of his legs, including a long reddish-white one that looked as if it should have taken his left leg entirely. She finished stitching the cut on the back of his thigh, wrapped bandages around the leg, and began on the gash in his hip.

  “I know those mercenaries,” said Ark.

  “Oh?” said Caina, hesitating.

  “Years ago,” said Ark. “I thought they looked familiar, but I couldn’t place them. I saw them when I was still with the Eighteenth Legion. The Black Wolves, they
’re called. They were hard men. Brutal. They would kill anyone for the right price. They used to do a lot of work for the Magisterium, hunting down rogue sorcerers.”

  “The Magisterium, you say?” said Caina, holding the needle over a candle flame.

  “Or anyone else who would pay,” said Ark. He closed his eyes. “About…ten years ago, maybe twelve, they killed a High Lord. The Emperor declared them outlaw, and they fled to Alqaarin, or perhaps Istarinmul.”

  “Apparently, they’re back,” said Caina. Ark winced as she jabbed the needle into his skin. “Any idea why they would want to kill you?”

  “Me?” said Ark. “They came to kill you.”

  “No,” said Caina, stitching the wound. “Weren’t you listening? They had come for you. You, Ark. They said that you matched the description. They were surprised to see me. The ‘little fellow in the black cloak’, remember?”

  “You’re right,” said Ark, voice quiet.

  “Why would they want to kill you?” said Caina.

  “I…don’t know,” said Ark. “It can’t be a personal grudge. I only saw them once, at the start of my term of service with the Eighteenth. That was twenty years ago, and I never spoke with any of them.”

  “Did someone hire them to kill you?”

  “Why?” said Ark. “I am a discharged veteran of the legions. I used to be a blacksmith. Ostros had me masquerade as a caravan guard. I’m not important enough to kill.” His voice hardened. “Unless someone learned I am a Ghost.”

  “The only one killing Ghosts in Rasadda is our pyromancer,” said Caina, “and if he had come after you, you would have burned to death. He wouldn’t have sent mercenaries.”

  “No,” said Ark. “Then who sent the Black Wolves after us?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Caina, concentrating on the gash. “Our pyromancer wouldn’t have done it. Gaidan couldn’t afford them. I just don’t know. But what’s one more mystery? It’s not as if we have any shortage of them.” She finished stitching up the gash, and began making a poultice for the wound. “One thing troubles me.”