The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Things got a little out of hand,” said Caina.

  Halfdan said nothing.

  Caina sighed. “I burned down the Inn.”

  “Did you? That’s a shame,” said Halfdan. “Old Oscar kept an excellent wine cellar.”

  “Naelon Icaraeus was there,” said Caina.

  Halfdan’s eyes sharpened. “He was?”

  “In the flesh,” said Caina. “I thought that Icaraeus would have a courier there, maybe Tigrane or one of his other lieutenants. But Icaraeus was there, along with Tigrane and a dozen men. They’d taken over the Inn, kept Oscar and his family as captives in that excellent wine cellar.” Caina made a fist. “I almost had Icaraeus’s head. I should have had Icaraeus’s head.”

  “What went wrong?” said Halfdan.

  Caina reached into the satchel, handed Halfdan the twisted throwing knife. “The stories were true. Icaraeus has access to some level of sorcery. That’s how he’s been able to evade capture for so long. A brother of the Imperial Magisterium is aiding him.”

  “Or,” said Halfdan, examining the ruined throwing knife, “a renegade, or a foreign sorcerer. Not every incident of illegal sorcery in the Empire is the fault of the Magisterium.”

  “No,” said Caina, her hand twitching towards the ring on its cord, “just most of them.”

  Dark memories welled up, and she pushed them away.

  “But why seize the White Road Inn?” said Halfdan. “Utter folly. The place was popular with the local nobles. Someone was bound to notice something.”

  Caina shrugged. “I heard Tigrane and Icaraeus talking. They said their client demanded additional slaves, immediately. Apparently they thought the reward worth the risk.”

  “Apparently,” said Halfdan. “What else happened?”

  “I killed a few of Icaraeus’s men, freed Oscar and his family, and burned the Inn down,” said Caina. “Icaraeus thought he was under attack, and bolted for his ship.”

  Halfdan sighed. “You’re lucky to be alive. A pity you didn’t find anything we could use against Icaraeus. The Emperor would dearly like him brought down.”

  “Oh,” said Caina, “I did find all his correspondence.”

  Halfdan stared at her.

  Caina grinned and handed him the satchel.

  Halfdan took it and shuffled through the papers. “All of it?”

  “Everything I could find,” said Caina. “There is also a ledger and a journal in there, I think.”

  “Clever girl,” murmured Halfdan, pulling out a letter and glancing over it. “I’d hoped you would capture one of Icaraeus’s underlings at the White Road Inn. Instead you walk away with all of his correspondence. Well done.”

  Caina felt a flush of pride. Halfdan was not the sort of man to hand out praise lightly. “Thank you.”

  “But was it really necessary to burn down the Inn? Oscar had some superb wine.”

  “It was necessary at the time,” said Caina. “I’ll try to avoid setting any more buildings on fire in the future.”

  “Do that,” said Halfdan. “Now, help me sort through this.”

  They found a pile of stones fallen from the bluff, high enough to avoid the water, and with an excellent view all around, should anyone try to approach. Caina sat, and Halfdan handed her a sheaf of letters. She began to sift through them. Most of the letters had been written to Icaraeus’s brokers in the great slave markets of Anshan and New Kyre and Istarinmul, describing the “inventory” he would sell them. Caina shuddered to think of those luckless men and women, ripped from their homes, destined to die toiling under strange stars.

  If Naelon Icaraeus ever crossed her path again, she would find a way to kill him.

  “Gods,” said Halfdan, paging through the ledger.

  “What is it?” said Caina.

  “Icaraeus keeps detailed records,” said Halfdan. “He’s taken slaves from Varia Province, from the villages on the River Marentine, even from the city of Marsis itself. Maybe nine thousand, all told.”

  “Nine thousand?” said Caina, aghast. “How is that possible?”

  “He’s been at it for ten years, and he didn’t hand over all his slaves to Haeron and Maglarion,” said Halfdan. “It looks like he raids the back country, isolated villages, far from the Legion garrisons.” He shook his head. “And the circlemasters have only been aware of his activities in the Empire for the last year. We thought he fled to Istarinmul after the Emperor outlawed House Icaraeus. Instead Naelon’s become the scourge of the western Empire.”

  Caina handed him the letters. “It looks like he sells most of them in Istarinmul, though. And in Anshan and New Kyre, as well.”

  “And in Marsis,” Halfdan said, pointing at the ledger.

  Caina blinked. “You mean he kidnaps slaves in Marsis.”

  “Aye,” said Halfdan, “but he also sells slaves in Marsis.”

  “But Marsis is an Imperial city,” said Caina. “Slavery is against Imperial law.”

  “So is kidnapping free men and women to sell them as slaves,” said Halfdan, “but that doesn’t stop Icaraeus. Someone in Marsis is buying slaves, hundreds of them.”

  “The Magisterium,” said Caina at once. “It makes sense. The magi provide Icaraeus with tools of sorcery, and in return,” her voice grew hard, “he gives them slaves to use in their experiments.”

  “No,” said Halfdan. “It looks like…here. He sells to the noble Houses of Marsis. Palaegus, and a few others.”

  “The noble Houses?” said Caina. “But that is utter folly. A noble House couldn’t possibly hide hundreds of slaves. The Emperor would find out about it. Then he’d send us to deal with them.”

  “It is folly,” said Halfdan, “but the noble Houses have no shortage of fools. Yet it is still a mystery. And I do not like mysteries.” He stared at the ocean for a moment, frowning. Caina let him think, gathering up the letters and returning them to the satchel.

  “This is what we’ll do,” said Halfdan. “We will go to Marsis and investigate these noble Houses. If we can find proof that they hold slaves, we’ll deal with them appropriately.”

  Caina nodded. She knew what that meant.

  “And this is our best chance to find Icaraeus and his gang,” said Halfdan. He tapped the ledger. “It seems he can get more money for a slave in Marsis than he can anywhere else. Odds are he will return to Marsis sooner or later. When he does, we’ll have him.”

  Assuming they found a way to negate his sorcerous protections. But Halfdan already knew that.

  “How will we be disguised?” said Caina.

  “The jewel merchant, I think,” said Halfdan. “Basil Callenius, a man eager to sell his wares to the Lords and Ladies of the Empire. You will be my daughter, Anna. I will speak to the Lords, and you will speak to their wives and their daughters, and we will see what we can find.”

  Caina nodded. They had used the disguise in the past, to great effect. Just as she could play the part of an Imperial Countess or her maid, so also could she masquerade as a jewel merchant’s pampered daughter.

  “Is there a Ghost circle in Marsis?” said Caina.

  “Aye,” said Halfdan. “Not a large one. But effective enough.”

  “Not all that effective,” said Caina. “Not if Icaraeus has been operating under their noses for years.”

  “Perhaps,” said Halfdan. “But Naelon Icaraeus is dangerous. Even more dangerous than his father Haeron, I think. Haeron rarely left Malarae, but Naelon has traveled to every civilized land. When the Emperor sent men to arrest him, Naelon slew seven Imperial Guards and escaped. The Ghosts have been hunting him ever since. The Imperial Guards are the finest soldiers in the Empire, and he slew seven of them by himself, Caina. The man is dangerous and clever. The only reason you’re still alive is because you managed to trick him by burning down the Inn. If you hadn’t tricked him so thoroughly, he would have worked out who you were, and you would be dead now.”

  Caina nodded. “And now he has access to sorcery, as well.”

 
“But I suspect it has made him reckless,” said Halfdan. “He’s taking chances now. He’ll overstep, and we’ll have him.” He stood up, hefting the satchel. “Let’s go.”

  “You have supplies?” said Caina.

  “Aye,” said Halfdan. “This way.”

  Caina followed Halfdan up the bluffs, past the Ragman’s Inn, and to the southward road. Two miles later an overgrown trail split off from the road, vanishing into the trees. The trail ended at a clearing, a small creek bubbling through the trees. A wagon rested in the clearing, a pair of mules in the harness.

  “There are suitable clothes for you, in the back,” said Halfdan. “Clean yourself up as best you can, and I’ll keep watch.”

  Caina smiled. “No one wants to buy jewels from a man whose daughter has dirt on her face, eh?”

  “It rather ruins the disguise,” said Halfdan, turning his back to give her some privacy.

  Caina retrieved appropriate clothing from the wagon’s chests, stowed the pack with her nightfighter gear, and went to the creek. The water was cold and clean, and she washed the dirt from her face and most of the grease from her hair, though she wished for some soap. She stripped out of her clothes and bathed, shivering in the cold water.

  Her scars turned white in the chill, old dagger wounds on her hip and arm and shoulder. A single massive scar, looking almost like a belt, wound its way across her lower belly and hips. She tried not to look at it.

  Afterward she dried off with the old cloak and got dressed. A heavy blue gown of good material, with a black bodice. A blue cloak went over her shoulders, pinned in place with a jeweled silver brooch. She kept the daggers in her boots, along with a pair of throwing knives strapped to her left forearm. Going anywhere without a weapon made her uneasy. Her father’s gold ring stayed on its cord around her neck.

  Caina walked back to Halfdan, raking fingers through her wet hair.

  He nodded in approval. “Good. You look the part. As lovely as the dawn. I am half-tempted to find you a rich husband, for surely you would have no difficulty in beguiling him.”

  Caina shivered as she remembered Alastair Corus, her only lover, dead due to her manipulations. She hadn’t killed him, but her actions had lead to his death at Maglarion’s hands nonetheless.

  “No,” she said, voice quiet, “no, I am not the sort of woman to marry.”

  For an instant something like sadness flickered through her teacher’s eyes. “Yes. Of course. Your turn. Keep watch while I change.”

  Caina nodded and turned to watch the woods.

  “We might have a problem,” she said.

  “What?” said Halfdan.

  “A third of Marsis’s inhabitants are Szalds. I don’t speak Szaldic.”

  “I do,” said Halfdan. “So do the other Ghosts.”

  “Also, we shouldn’t travel to Marsis alone,” said Caina. “A rich merchant and his unmarried daughter? We might as well invite every robber for a hundred miles to attack us.”

  “Not to worry,” said Halfdan, grunting. “We’ll have a guard. He speaks Szaldic, too.”

  “Who?” said Caina. “A mercenary?”

  “Another Ghost,” said Halfdan.

  Caina opened her mouth to reply, and glimpsed movement in the woods.

  “Halfdan!” She stepped forward, slipping a throwing knife into her hand. Halfdan walked to her side, dressed in the fur-lined robe, rich cloak, and cap of a prosperous merchant. He still kept sword and dagger at his belt, though.

  “Ah,” said Halfdan. “He’s a little late. I was beginning to worry.”

  “Who?” said Caina.

  A man stepped into the clearing. He had the cold eyes of a killer, a grim face, and close-cropped balding hair. He wore the ragged red tunic of a legionary beneath a coat of mail. A broadsword hung from his belt, and a heavy shield on his back. Both sword and shield had seen much use.

  Caina grinned.

  And why not smile? She had hunted a murderer alongside this man, and he had saved her life more than once.

  “Should I fear the shadows?” she called in High Nighmarian.

  His eyes focused on her, and he looked almost mournful. She knew why. He had told her once that she looked like his dead wife.

  “There are Ghosts in the shadows,” answered the man in mail, speaking High Nighmarian with a thick Caerish accent, “and let the tyrants tremble in their beds, for the shadows are ever watchful.” He looked at Halfdan. “Any word? Any news of them at all?”

  “No,” said Halfdan. “I’m sorry, Arcion.”

  The man nodded, and turned to Caina. “Countess.”

  “Not this time,” said Caina, speaking Caerish in the bored, diffident tone of a pampered merchant’s daughter. “I am Anna Callenius, daughter of the master merchant Basil Callenius, and I am accompanying my father on his business trip to Marsis. He hopes to find me a wealthy husband so he shan’t have to pay a large dowry, the cheap old buzzard.”

  The man in mail almost smiled. “It still amazes me, how you change your voice the way other women change their hair.” He stepped forward and gripped her hands. “It is good to see you again, Caina.”

  She gripped back. “And you, Ark.”

  Chapter 3 - Marsis

  “I thought you had gone back to Rasadda,” said Caina.

  She sat on the wagon besides Halfdan, who held the reins and cursed the mules every so often. Ark walked besides them, hand resting on his sword hilt, his eyes scanning the shore and the woods and the road for danger.

  “I did,” said Ark. “Long enough to rebuild the Ghost circle.” He shook his head. “It was hardly necessary. Rasadda has changed. You should come back and see it, if you ever get the chance. No one goes hungry now, and the harbor is choked with trading ships. Last year the city was on the edge of starvation and revolt. Now they’re exporting grain to the Imperial capital and overseas to Alqaarin and Istarinmul. Even the commoners are growing fat and prosperous.”

  “I can hardly picture it,” said Caina.

  “And it was your doing,” said Ark. “When you took down Nicephorus and stopped Kalastus. Every man, woman, and child in that city would be dead, if not for you.”

  “No. Our doing,” said Caina. “Not just mine. Why did you leave?”

  Ark shrugged. “Rasadda is at peace. There was nothing for me to do there. A message came from the circlemasters that Halfdan needed me. So I came.”

  “Why?” said Caina.

  “He speaks Szaldic, for one,” said Halfdan, “since you were concerned about it.”

  “Of course I speak Szaldic,” said Ark. He looked away. “It was Tanya’s native tongue.” He frowned, and looked back at her. “You…don’t speak Szaldic?”

  “No,” said Caina.

  A smile flickered over his face. “I speak a language that you do not? I never thought I would see the day.”

  “I’ve spent most my life in the central and eastern Empire,” said Caina. “No one speaks Szaldic there.”

  “Besides,” said Halfdan, “he’s steady with a sword. We’ll need someone like that, when trouble comes.”

  “I know that already,” said Caina. She looked at Ark. “But why did you come?”

  Ark shrugged, and glanced at the sea. “I wanted to keep looking. To see if I could find out what happened.”

  “Oh,” said Caina. “I should have realized. I’m sorry.”

  “No need,” said Ark. “It…” He frowned. “Riders.”

  Caina listened, heard the drumming of hooves. A moment later a pair of riders came into view, moving at a canter. A liveried messenger and his armored bodyguard. No doubt they carried messages for some noble House or another.

  “Father,” said Caina, as the riders came into earshot, “when we reach the city I simply demand you buy me some bolts of silk at once. At once! My dress is horrid and I’ve simply nothing else to wear. How am I to find a husband when you dress me in these rags?” She gave the sleeve of her gown a disdainful tug. “And another thing. You must hire some ne
w maids immediately. Do you expect me to do all the washing like some impoverished drudge? And you shall have to buy some proper horses, and a suitable carriage as well. These mules are a dreadful sight! And…”

  The riders exchanged nods with Halfdan as they passed. Caina heard the messenger say something to the bodyguard, and both burst out laughing as they rode away.

  “I wonder what they said about me,” said Caina.

  “I can imagine,” said Ark. He barked a short laugh. “Gods! I hope you shall not talk like that the entire time.”

  “Just when necessary,” said Caina. “I told you once that people expect nothing dangerous from a haughty Countess. Well, they expect even less from a merchant’s spoiled daughter. Easier to ferret out their secrets, that way.”

  “You wear the mask well,” said Ark. “Had I not seen you kill men with my own eyes, I would never believe you capable of it.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. She sighed. She had killed more people that she cared to remember. It had been her duty, it had been necessary…and still she regretted it.

  More scars for the mind.

  ###

  At sundown Halfdan pulled the wagon off the road and built a fire. After spending a chilly night in the woods, Caina appreciated the heat. They ate some bread, cheese, and wine.

  “This is good wine,” said Ark.

  “Aye,” said Halfdan, “from the Disali hill country, the ninth year of the previous Emperor’s reign. It comes in handy for impressing people, when the time is right.”

  “I’d settle for some cold water,” said Caina.

  “You’ve no palate, girl.”

  “Wine makes me brood,” said Caina. “Water.”

  “No palate.”

  Ark took first watch, and they went to bed. Caina did not sleep well. She dreamed of the men she had killed, whether in self-defense or in the course of her duties. Again she felt the weight of the blades in her hands, the hot blood splashing over her fingers. Again she saw her father slumped in his chair, eyes empty, saw her mother screaming with poisonous hatred.

  “You stupid, useless child!” shrieked her mother as Caina clutched the fireplace poker, sobbing. “I curse the day you were born. How I wish I had killed you in my womb!”