The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Caina knew better.

  The book hidden in her chest often intruded upon her thoughts.

  She stood outside the Inn, watching the crowds before the Basilica. Nearby Sairzan’s servants and her maids loaded the coach. Ark stood besides her, leaning on a crutch, and had insisted upon wearing his sword belt.

  “Countess!”

  Caina turned her head in surprise.

  Septimus Romarion strode towards her, a new rapier at his belt.

  “Master Romarion,” said Caina. “It is good to see that you are well. I had feared you were caught up in these momentous events.”

  “You’ve been hurt,” said Romarion, peering at her face. The bruise on her jaw from the Sons of Corazain was still visible, and her lips were still chapped and cracked from the heat atop the pyramid.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Some rebels broke into my room and tried to kill me.” She sighed. “I fear that I’ve had quite enough of this city. I am leaving for Mors Crisius, and will take ship from there to the Imperial capital. Will you be joining me?”

  Romarion shook his head. “I fear not. The chaos in the city has hurt my business. I have no choice but to go to Alqaarin, to try and rebuild my fortunes there.”

  Wise of him.

  “Alas,” said Caina. “It seems that you will not be paying court to me after all.”

  “Though I do regret it sorely,” said Romarion. “Countess, I hope you will not think me forward if I say that you are a very exceptional young woman.”

  “You flatter me, sir,” said Caina.

  “No,” said Romarion. “Perhaps after I return to the Empire, we…”

  He was staring at Ark’s sheathed broadsword.

  Caina frowned.

  Romarion looked at her, at Ark, and then back to her.

  She saw the horrified recognition flood into his eyes. For a moment no one said anything. Ark’s hand curled around the hilt of his sword, and panic flooded into Romarion’s face.

  Very slowly, very carefully, Caina put a single finger to her lips.

  Romarion gave a jerky nod, turned, and hurried out of the plaza as if all the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  “Do you think we’ll have to kill him?” said Ark after a while.

  “No,” said Caina. “He’s too frightened. I don’t think he’ll ever return to the Empire.”

  Ark grunted and let go of his sword. “Wise of him.”

  ###

  A week after that, Caina and Ark sat in the common room of Halfdan’s inn at Mors Crisius. Her circlemaster brought them goblets of wine, and sat down across from them. Caina told him everything that had happened.

  Except for the book.

  Halfdan digested it all for a moment.

  “Did you really have to kill Nicephorus?” said Halfdan.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “He tolerated slavers. The Ghosts have killed governors for less.”

  “And if she had not, I would have,” added Ark.

  “True enough,” said Halfdan. “It may please you to know that a message arrived yesterday. The Emperor approves of what you have done, and sends his thanks. He says you have averted a great threat to the peace of the Empire, and can retire in comfort for the rest of your days, if you wish.”

  “No,” said Caina. She touched her father’s ring where it hung against her skin. “No. Not while there are more men like Kalastus out there.”

  “That could take some time,” said Halfdan.

  “I know,” said Caina.

  Halfdan nodded. “You’ve done very well. Both of you.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina, and Ark nodded.

  “You’ll be leaving tomorrow for Malarae, as Countess Marianna Nereide,” said Halfdan. “There are some things happening there that I would like you to investigate.” He looked at Ark. “You, my friend, will accompany her, since you two seem to work so well together.”

  They talked for some time more, and then Halfdan went to bed.

  “Countess,” said Ark. He hesitated. “In our travels. We will take the time to look for Tanya, will we not?”

  “We will,” said Caina. “I swear it. Good night, Ark.”

  He smiled and limped off to bed. Caina watched him go.

  She had told neither of them about the book. It was clear that it had some sort of sorcerous effect upon its possessor. Even now she felt it in her thoughts, whispering to her, and she began to understand how Kalastus had been ensnared by it. If she told Ark and Halfdan about it, what would it whisper to them? Would it promise Ark his wife and child back? Would he have the strength to resist its call?

  Caina did not know if she herself could resist, but she intended to find out.

  ###

  Two days later Caina, Ark, and her maids lodged on a ship traveling westward across the Alqaarin Sea, making for the city of Arzaxia, and then the Imperial capital of Malarae.

  Caina walked across the deck to the helm. “Captain?”

  The captain bowed. He reminded her somewhat of Maltaer. “Yes, Countess?”

  “Do you remember the chest I had you bring on board?”

  The captain frowned. “Yes, my lady. Though for the life of me, I can’t imagine why you wanted a chest full of bricks carried on board.”

  “That is my own concern,” said Caina, her best Imperial hauteur in her voice, “and I am paying you well enough for it. Where is it?”

  “In the hold, my lady,” said the captain.

  “Good. I wish to be alone with it for a few moments,” said Caina. “Then send four of your strongest men to carry it on deck.”

  The captain bowed. “As you will.”

  Caina climbed down into the hold. The iron chest, filled with bricks, sat near the ladder. She opened the lid and busied herself removing the top layer of bricks. After that was done, she unwrapped the bundle hidden beneath her cloak.

  Corazain’s book rested in her hands, and again she felt the allure. It had the power to heal her. Halfdan had said she could retire in comfort, had he not? She could find a worthy husband, bear not one child but many, could watch her sons and daughters grow up around her.

  All that could be hers. She need only read the book, to learn its secrets. She need only…

  She need only do what Kalastus had done.

  There were tears in her eyes when she dropped the book into the chest. One by one she restacked the bricks upon it. Then she closed the lid, locked it, and tucked the key into a pocket.

  “My lady?” The captain stared down at her. “Are you ready?”

  “I am,” said Caina, her voice calm.

  As it turned out, it took six strong men and three pulleys to get the chest up on deck.

  “What should we do with it?” said the captain.

  “Throw it over the side,” said Caina.

  He gave her a suspicious look. “What did you put inside?”

  “Love letters,” said Caina. “A rich merchant won my heart, and he betrayed me.”

  The captain and his men shared a knowing look. “Ah.”

  After a few more moments of struggle, they heaved the chest over the side. It struck with a mighty splash, and vanished at once beneath the waves. Caina watched as all of Corazain’s murderous secrets vanished forever.

  She flipped the key into the water, touched her father’s ring, and smiled.

  “Are you well, Countess?” said the captain.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Very well.”

  So long as men like Kalastus blighted the world, they would need to fear the shadows.

  For in the shadows waited the Ghosts.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading "Ghost in the Flames." Turn the page to read exclusive bonus content from the next GHOSTS novel, Ghost in the Blood. For immediate notification of new releases, you can sign up for my email newsletter here, or watch for news on my Facebook page.

  Part III - Ghost in the Blood

  Caina is a Ghost nightfighter, one of the Emperor’s elite spies and assassins, and few enemi
es of the Empire ever escape her cunning.

  Yet all Caina’s wit and skill might not be enough to save her from a terrible fate.

  Sent to hunt down a cruel slave trader, Caina encounters something far darker. An ancient evil, a thing of legend and terror.

  A creature that wants to corrupt her, heart and soul…

  Chapter 1 – The Ambush

  There was going to be trouble.

  Caina realized it the moment she walked through the door.

  She would have expected to see a liveried steward standing inside, waiting to greet the White Road Inn’s wealthy guests, or perhaps a porter or two. But instead of a steward or porters, she saw a dozen rough-looking men sitting at the tables, drinking and playing cards. Some looked like sailors and others like mercenaries, but none of them looked like sort of men she expected to see at a place like the White Road Inn.

  Every eye turned to look at her as she walked into the common room, examining her like a cut of meat on the butcher’s block.

  It was not a comfortable sensation.

  One of the men rose. He looked like a sailor, with a thick mane of gray hair over a leathery face. A sword in a worn scabbard hung from his belt. Caina found her eyes drawn to the bracers covering his forearms. Black leather, with various odd sigils cut into their sides.

  She had seen those sigils before.

  “Aye, girl?” said the gray-haired man, speaking in Caerish with a thick Kyracian accent. “What’s your business here?”

  Caina drew herself up, tried to look authoritative, and answered him in the same language. “What is your name?”

  “Name’s Tigrane,” said the man, smiling at her. “I suppose you could say that I’m the steward of this Inn.”

  One of the men chuckled.

  “I shall have you know that I am Julia, a maid in the service of the Countess Marianna, of House Nereide,” said Caina, clutching her saddlebags. “My mistress has sent me ahead to prepare her rooms for her.”

  Tigrane stared at her, a cold glint in his eye. “We’ve no rooms available.”

  “But…but that’s impossible,” said Caina. She let a little fear creep into her voice. “My mistress stays here every year at this time, when she makes the journey from the Imperial capital to Marsis. The arrangements have been made well in advance.”

  Tigrane gave an indifferent shrug. “Alas. Yet we’ve no rooms available.”

  Caina stared at him for a moment. “Very well. I shall go and inform my mistress. Know that she shall be wroth.”

  She turned to go.

  Tigrane reacted exactly as she expected.

  “Wait,” he said, stepping towards her. “Perhaps I spoke hastily. All our rooms are booked, but we can make other arrangements. And I cannot let a pretty young thing like you walk alone into the night. There are robbers and slavers about, you know.”

  Another man chuckled.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “I am sure. Very well.” She lifted her chin, glaring up at him. “Take me to my mistress’s chambers.”

  Tigrane gave a mocking little bow. “As you will.”

  Caina adjusted one of the bags, hand curling about the dagger hidden within. Yet Tigrane made no move against her. He took a lantern and led her up two flights of stairs, to the Inn’s top floor, and ushered her into a suite. The rooms were richly furnished, and the windows had a splendid view of the courtyard and the moon-lit sea beyond.

  “Here you are,” said Tigrane. “I’m sure your Countess will find these rooms most satisfactory.”

  “She will,” said Caina, dropping the saddlebags on a table.

  Tigrane lit a few of the oil lamps. “Some of my men will be along shortly, to make certain you are comfortable.” He gave her another cold smile and left the room.

  “Yes,” said Caina to the closed door. “I’m sure that you will.” She was sure that Tigrane and his men had plans for her. Plans that ended with her naked corpse in a shallow grave behind the Inn.

  Fortunately, she had plans of her own.

  She barred the door and walked to the table, shrugging out of her serving maid’s dress. Her saddlebags held more useful clothing. She pulled on loose black pants, black boots, black gloves, and a heavy padded black jacket, lined with steel plates to deflect knives. A man’s worn signet ring went on the first finger of her left hand, beneath the glove. Around her waist went a belt of throwing knives and other useful tools. Daggers went into concealed sheaths in her boots, and more throwing knives beneath her sleeves. A mask of loose black silk covered her face, concealing everything but her eyes.

  Last came the cloak.

  It was a wondrous thing, light as air and black as shadow. Halfdan had told her that the great wizards of old had created these cloaks, weaving shadows together with spider silk. The cloak was virtually weightless, and blended and merged with the shadows in the room. Caina shrugged on the cloak, pulling up the cowl to conceal her face.

  She was a Ghost nightfighter, a sworn spy and servant of the Emperor. Tigrane and his gang of thugs no doubt expected to deal with a helpless serving woman. They were in for a surprise.

  She hoped they enjoyed it.

  Caina wrapped the empty saddlebags in her discarded dress and tossed them under the bed. She crossed to the windows and opened the shutters. Moonlight flooded into the room, along with the steady crash of surf breaking against the shore. A broad ledge stretched beneath the window, circling around the Inn. Caina dropped onto the ledge, her cloak flowing behind her, crossed three windows down, and popped the latch with a quick flick of a knife. Inside she found another empty bedroom, rather less opulent than the suite Tigrane had given her.

  The hall outside the bedroom was empty. Caina had a great deal of experience moving quietly, much of it under dangerous conditions, and had no difficulty keeping silent as she crept down the halls. She glided down the stairs, settled into the shadows on the landing, and watched the common room.

  Voices drifted to her ears.

  “Claims she’s a maid,” said Tigrane, speaking to a man out of sight. “In the service of a Countess Marianna Nereide. Says her mistress is coming soon.” He shook his head. “I told you this was a risk.”

  “It was necessary,” answered another voice, deeper and commanding. The voice spoke Caerish with the cold accents of a Nighmarian lord. “Our employer required additional merchandise immediately, and this was the safest way to do it. Too many more people disappearing in the city might draw attention.”

  “What about the maid?” said Tigrane. “What do we do about her? Does she go into inventory?”

  “Don’t be foolish,” said the second man. “Innkeepers and servants are one thing. A highborn Imperial noblewoman is quite another. Someone will notice if she goes missing. Even taking a member of her household might draw unwanted attention.”

  “I say we take the maid with the others,” said Tigrane, walking around a table. Caina leaned forward, trying to see Tigrane’s companion. “And then when this Countess arrives, we can do the same for her.”

  “No,” said the second man. “Kill the maid. Bury her corpse and all her possessions in the cellar. Once she’s dead, take our inventory and head for the ship. Burn the Inn after we leave. At dawn, we’ll sail for Marsis. By the time the Countess and her entourage arrive, we’ll be long gone, with no evidence left behind.”

  Tigrane grinned. “And the men can enjoy themselves before we finish off the maid.”

  Caina grimaced.

  “No,” said the second man. “No rapes.”

  “Why not?” said Tigrane. “It’s not as if we’re going to sell her. No sense keeping her undamaged if no one’s going to buy her.”

  “Because,” said the second man, “men with fun on their minds make mistakes. And there can be no mistakes here, Tigrane. If we leave behind evidence of our presence – any evidence at all – we’ll have the Ghosts on our trail.”

  “The Ghosts?” said Tigrane, a note of fear in his voice. “Gods of the brine, not again. The last t
ime was a disaster.”

  Caina smirked behind her mask.

  “Then you see the necessity for caution,” said the second man. She heard heavy footsteps. “Still. It’s on your head. Do as you will with her…but only after you take her and all her possessions to the cellar. I don’t want a shred of evidence left in that suite. A single mistake and I’ll gut you. Or I’ll turn you over to our client. You’ll wish I had killed you then.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Tigrane as the second man came into sight.

  The deep-voiced man looked nothing like Tigrane. This man was tall and pale, his hair black, his face gaunt, his lips framed in a trimmed beard. He wore fine clothes and jewelry, a broadsword at his belt, and the same sort of strange bracers as Tigrane. Caina recognized him at once and suppressed a hiss of excitement.

  Lord Naelon Icaraeus.

  Son of Haeron Icaraeus, the traitor lord who had supplied the necromancer Maglarion with slaves for his experiments. Naelon has followed in his father’s steps. He was a rebel lord and traitor to the Emperor, and most wanted and elusive slave trader in the western Empire.

  And he was here, within her grasp.

  “You three,” said Tigrane, pointing to some of the men. “You heard his lordship. Get ropes and a gag, and take that maid down to the cellar. Do whatever you want with her, but only after you get her downstairs. Kill her when you’re done. Understand?”

  “Aye,” said one of the men. They rose and went in search of their weapons.

  Caina headed up the stairs, moving as fast as she dared. She contemplated hiding and discarded the idea. If the men searched the suite and found no trace of her, they would report back to Tigrane, and Icaraeus would realize that something had gone amiss. Better to spread confusion. And fear.

  She reached the third floor, went out the window, and climbed back into her suite. Dousing the lamps, she looked around for a suitable hiding place. The wardrobe seemed more than adequate, and she climbed atop it, her cloak mingling with the darkness. Her heart raced with fear and anticipation, and she slipped one of the daggers from her boots. She was fast, but most men were stronger than her, and she could not win a straight fight against three opponents.