The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Jadriga.”

  Hiram snorted. “Jadriga? That charlatan? I…”

  “She is not a charlatan,” said Caina. “Agria learned sorcery from her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Messana Heliorus and Vorena Chlorus had some level of ability as well. Jadriga is a sorceress of considerable power.”

  “How much power?” said Hiram.

  “I think,” said Caina quietly, “that she could kill you and your men with a thought.”

  Hiram frowned. “But if she has such power as you say…what would she want with Agria? Or with slaves, for that matter?”

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. She could think of several possibilities, remembering Agria’s endless talk of blessings, and none of them were good. “Agria is her student, and I suppose she finds Agria useful. As for the slaves…I don’t yet know.”

  Hiram nodded. “What should I do?”

  “Keep this quiet,” said Caina, gesturing at the bodies. “We’re preparing to move against Icaraeus. We have a chance to capture one of his lieutenants. If we are successful, we might have a chance to catch Icaraeus himself. The less warning he has, the better.”

  Hiram nodded again. “I will keep it quiet. What else?”

  “I warned you against approaching Agria directly,” said Caina.

  “I haven’t,” said Hiram. “I haven’t spoken to her since the night of her last ball.”

  “Continue to avoid her,” said Caina. “Agria is just as guilty as Icaraeus, and we intend to take her down as well.” Caina took a deep breath. “And under no circumstances approach Jadriga. Not for any reason. I cannot emphasize that enough. If she decides that you are a threat, she will probably kill you then and there.” As Jadriga had sent men to kill Caina, that very night. “Or you’ll wish that she had killed you, before she is done with you.”

  “Very well,” said Hiram. “I will not approach them. Anything else?”

  “Not yet,” said Caina. “But soon. Be ready to act at a moment’s notice. Things will start happening soon.”

  “I will be ready,” said Hiram. He glanced back at the square, where the Legionaries loaded the corpses onto a wagon. “As will my men.”

  Caina took the opportunity to roll backwards, concealing herself behind a barrel. Hiram turned to face her and flinched. He spent a few moments scanning the alley, but thanks to Caina’s cloak, he saw nothing.

  “How does he do that?” muttered Hiram. With a shake of his head, he stalked back to the plaza.

  ###

  A short time later Caina returned to Zorgi’s inn, the Citadel and Black Angel Tower looming in the background.

  She saw Icaraeus’s lookout at once. The man leaned against a wall, sipping from a flask. From time to time, Caina glimpsed the rune-carved bracers strapped to his forearms. No doubt another squad of men lurked nearby, waiting to attack should Caina and Halfdan return. But otherwise, the inn seemed unharmed. Of course, the White Road Inn had looked unharmed, and the innkeeper and his family had been chained in the cellar.

  Caina decided to double-check.

  It was easy enough to evade the lookout, and she vaulted over the low stone wall and into the inn’s gardens. Light streamed from the windows, and Caina crept up for a closer look. Inside she saw one of Zorgi’s servants washing the tables, and another scrubbing the floor. Nothing looked out of place. Caina nodded to herself, and turned to go.

  A woman’s sobbing drifted to her ears.

  Caina crouched and spun, yanking a knife from her belt. The sobbing continued, but Caina also heard a man’s voice, low and insistent. Zorgi and Katerine, she realized. Caina crept around the corner of the inn.

  She saw Zorgi and Katerine standing together, Zorgi holding his wife by the shoulders, Katerine shaking her head.

  “You must let this go,” said Zorgi, his voice shaking. “Our son is dead.”

  “No,” said Katerine, “no, no, I know that Peter is alive, I know that he will come back to us one day.”

  “Katerine,” said Zorgi, “I wish more than anything that you were correct. I would give everything I have to see Peter again…I would give everything I have just to know what happened to him. But we are alone. No one will help us.”

  Caina stood up. “Perhaps you are wrong.”

  Zorgi whirled in alarm, his eyes widening as he took in Caina’s shadowed form, and he shoved Katerine behind him. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Name yourself! Speak!”

  Caina held up a hand, palm out. “I mean you no harm. I wish only to speak.”

  “What…what are you?” said Zorgi. “Are you a spirit? Are…are you Peter’s shade?”

  “Husband, use your eyes,” said Katerine. “He must be one of the Emperor’s Ghosts.”

  Zorgi looked even more frightened. “The Emperor’s Ghosts? Here?”

  Caina wondered how he would react if he realized that three of the Ghosts had been sleeping under his very roof.

  “The Emperor has no Ghosts,” said Caina, “only servants who watch from the shadows.”

  Zorgi swallowed. “What do you want from us, sir? We are only innkeepers, not great Lords or wealthy merchants.”

  “Don’t you see?” said Katerine. “The Emperor has sent him to kill the Moroaica.”

  Caina blinked. The Moroaica?

  “Be quiet, wife,” said Zorgi. “That is only a tale.”

  “You have heard the name Lord Naelon Icaraeus?” said Caina.

  Zorgi frowned. “I…have. A villain and a traitor, so they say.”

  “He is,” said Caina. “He has since turned to slave trading, and has kidnapped hundreds from Marsis. Almost certainly that is what happened to your son.”

  Zorgi gave a heavy nod. “I…thought so. People have been disappearing for years. Especially children.” His voice was bitter. “But not the children of Lords or wealthy merchants, the villains are clever enough not to take them, so no one cares. At least now you have come to make Icaraeus pay for his crimes.”

  “He will,” said Caina. “I promise you that. He will pay dearly for all that he has done, if I can lay hands upon him. Tell me how your son disappeared. The more we can learn, the better chance I have of finding Icaraeus.”

  “The Moroaica took him,” said Katerine. “And he is still alive.”

  “He simply disappeared from his room one night about four years ago,” said Zorgi. “We do not know what happened. I searched for years. I questioned everyone I saw. But…he is gone. No one saw anything.”

  “He is still alive,” said Katerine.

  “I’m afraid your husband is right,” said Caina. “He’s probably dead.” Or a slave in some plantation or mine, or murdered in one of Agria and Jadriga’s spells.

  “He is still alive,” said Katerine. “You are not a woman so you would not understand. But a mother, a mother knows.”

  “No,” said Caina. Her disguised voice kept the pain masked quite handily. “You are right. I would not understand.”

  “And I saw the Moroaica take him,” said Katerine.

  “Did you?” said Caina, interested.

  “Forgive her, sir,” said Zorgi. “The Moroaica is an old tale, from before our fathers’ fathers left their homeland and came to the Empire. She is a female demon that takes the form of a beautiful woman and carries of children to be slaves in her palace in the lands of the dead.”

  “I know the story,” said Caina. “Let her speak.”

  “I awoke that night in a terror,” said Katerine, her voice low and pained. “I knew that something was wrong. I went to check on Peter, and he was gone. I ran outside, looking for him. He was in the garden. I called to him, but he did not answer.” She touched her throat. “There was a…a shining thing around his neck.”

  “A shining thing?” said Caina.

  “Like a collar, or maybe a chain,” said Katerine. “His face was slack, his eyes empty. And he was walking to the Moroaica.”

  “How did you know she was the Moroaica?” said Caina.

  “I saw her,”
whispered Katerine, her face drawn with soul-crushing fear. “Who else could she have been? She had a crown made of skulls, and a cloak made of blood, and there were lines of ash and flame written upon her skin. Her eyes were like pits into the blackest fires of hell. She looked at me…and she laughed. I thought I would go mad. She pointed at me, and everything went black. When I woke up, she was gone, and so was Peter.”

  “A dream,” said Zorgi, voice numb. “A terrible, terrible dream, but a dream nonetheless.”

  Caina said nothing. The story of the Moroaica sounded disturbingly like what she suspected Agria and Jadriga and the others of doing. But they, at least, were only mortals of flesh and blood. And she doubted that Jadriga and her students kidnapped slaves themselves. They contracted that job out to Icaraeus.

  So just what had Katerine seen that night?

  “A grim story,” said Caina.

  “Do you believe me?” said Katerine.

  “Did you see the Moroaica of legend?” said Caina. “I don’t know. But Icaraeus is working for people with sorcerous abilities. And we still don’t know how he is kidnapping slaves from the city undetected. So you may well have seen something. Though I don’t know what.”

  “Sorcery?” said Zorgi, aghast. “This Icaraeus uses sorcery? What sort of devil is he?”

  “A bad one,” said Caina. “Listen to me. You must speak of this conversation to no one, do you understand? The wrong word in the wrong ear and you both will die.”

  Zorgi and Katerine both nodded.

  “If you learn anything of interest,” said Caina, “send a bottle of wine to a man named Ducas, a tribune in the Twentieth Legion. Send no details with the message. The next night either myself, or a representative, will make contact with you. Am I understood? If Icaraeus knows you have spoken with me, he will not hesitate to kill you. Your lives depend upon your obedience.”

  “I understand, sir,” said Zorgi, “and we will not speak of this to anyone.”

  “Good,” said Caina. “If I learn your son’s fate, I promise that you will know of it.”

  Zorgi closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “He is alive,” said Katerine. “You will see.” She hesitated. “I will say prayers for you, Ghost. Both to the gods of the Empire and gods of our fathers. For when you find my son…I think you will face many evil and terrible things.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina. “I will take all the help I can get.”

  She left, leaving them standing in the garden.

  ###

  The door rattled open, and Caina stepped into the warehouse.

  Ark and Jiri lay sleeping on the cots. Radast sat at one of the tables, working with the tools. Halfdan leaned against the wall, sipping from a cup of wine. Caina drew back her cowl and pulled off her mask, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

  “Did you learn anything useful?” said Halfdan.

  “Hiram Palaegus is doing the cleanup at Radast’s workshop,” said Caina. “He said he’d keep things quiet.”

  Halfdan grunted. “That’s a stroke of luck.” He offered Caina a cup, and she took and drank, wincing at the taste. “It occurs to me that we killed everyone Icaraeus sent after us. If doesn’t realize that things have gone wrong, he might not stop the raid.”

  “Or,” said Caina, “he might not care what happens to Tigrane.”

  “That too,” said Halfdan.

  “Katerine thinks that the Moroaica kidnapped her son Peter,” said Caina.

  “You talked to them?”

  “Disguised, of course,” said Caina. “They’re fine. Icaraeus has some men watching the inn, but so long as we don’t return, they shouldn’t attack.”

  “The Moroaica, eh?” said Halfdan. He took another sip of wine. “We still don’t know how Icaraeus is smuggling slaves through the city undetected. He could be using sorcery, and a woman like Katerine might interpret that as some demon out of Szaldic legend.”

  “We’re still planning for tomorrow night?” said Caina.

  Halfdan nodded. “Ducas went to ready one of the centuries from his cohort.” He glanced at Radast. “He’s making more silvered weapons.”

  “Where did you get the ghostsilver?”

  Halfdan grinned. “I try to be prepared.” He glanced at the cots. “It’s almost dawn. You’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow night is going to be busy.”

  Caina nodded and lay down on a spare cot. It wasn’t at all comfortable, but she fell asleep at once.

  ###

  The nightmares came in a confusing jumble. Her mother screamed at her, hooded shapes held glittering knives, and dying men burst into flame. Agria Palaegus stalked through corridors of black stone, a bloodstained knife in hand.

  For a moment Caina dreamed that she was shackled to a tilted stone altar, a black pit yawning before her. Her mother loomed over her, face distorted with lust and rage, the bloodstained knife shining in her hand. Then the vision blurred, and she stood alone in a cavern filled with bones and rotting meat.

  The little girl stood in the corner, watching her.

  “What are you trying to tell me?” said Caina.

  The girl was silent.

  ###

  Caina awoke that afternoon. Despite the nightmares, her mind was cold and clear and focused.

  It was time for action.

  Chapter 16 - The Interrogation

  Darkness hung over the tenement on Dockyard Street. Most of the men who lived here were at work, their wives and children sleeping. The street was deserted, and no lights shone in the tenement windows.

  “I wonder if they’re still coming,” muttered Ark.

  Caina waited with Ark and Radast atop a building across the street from the tenement. Radast knelt nearby, four loaded crossbows lying on the ground before him. He scribbled calculations onto a small slate, pausing every so often to squint at the street. Below them Ducas and a hundred men of his cohort lurked in the lightless alleys, ready to spring out and attack.

  “Only one way to find out,” said Caina.

  Ark smashed a fist against the hilt of his broadsword. “I wish they would simply show up already.” His face was cold, the muscles of his jaw tight. Caina knew that expression. It meant trouble. And it had been on his face ever since he learned that Tigrane had been at Hruzac.

  Caina hesitated, and touched his shoulder. Ark looked at her, and she saw the anguish in his eyes. “You’ll get your chance,” she said.

  “I’m going to kill him,” said Ark, voice low. “After he tells me everything that happened at Hruzac.” His breath came in a ragged rasp. “I’ve wondered what happened at Hruzac for years. I’ve thought of nothing else. If I could have done something differently, if I could have gotten back to the village sooner…”

  “Please shut up,” said Radast.

  Caina and Ark looked at him.

  “Sound carries further by a factor of four from a rooftop,” whispered Radast, “and I think someone’s coming.”

  “Get down,” hissed Caina.

  They dropped low to the rooftop. A short time later Caina heard the rattle of wagon wheels. Four wagons came around the corner, each pulled by a pair of horses. The wagons carried armed men, and Caina saw Tigrane driving the first wagon.

  Every man wore the rune-carved bracers.

  Caina heard the leather of Ark’s sword grip creak.

  The wagons stopped before the tenement. Tigrane swung down from the seat, the mercenaries following suit.

  “Is this the place?” said a squat man with a ragged beard. Vardan, Caina recognized.

  “Aye,” said Tigrane. “Only one way inside and out.”

  The men made no effort to keep their voices down. And, after all, why should they? They had operated with impunity for years. Who would ever call them to account for what they had done? Caina found herself grinning beneath her mask.

  They were in for quite a surprise.

  “Get moving,” said Tigrane. “You’ve got the collars?”

  “Aye,” said Vardan, tapp
ing his belt. Slender loops of chain hung from his belt, glimmering oddly in the moonlight. Caina remembered Katerine’s story of the shining thing she had seen around her son’s neck. Caina saw neither chains nor shackles in the wagons. Odd, that. Even children and women needed more than slender loops of chain for restraint.

  “Get moving,” said Tigrane. “We’ve got to get them to the house by dawn. His Lordship’s clients are getting restless.”

  Vardan nodded and barked orders. A half-dozen men followed him into the tenement. Ark hissed through his teeth and stared to stand. Caina grabbed his shoulder.

  “Wait for the signal,” she breathed.

  They did not need to wait long. Ducas strode into the street, sword in hand, crimson Tribune’s cloak billowing behind him. Tigrane and the others stopped and gaped at him.

  “Who the devil are you?” said Tigrane.

  Ducas’s answering roar boomed over the street. The man had a superb battlefield voice. “Tigrane, servant of Lord Naelon Icaraeus! In the name of the Emperor and his laws I accuse you and your men of slave-trading, kidnapping, murder, and offering aid to an attainted traitor to the Empire! I command you to lay down your weapons and come peacefully, or you will be taken by force.”

  Tigrane barked out a laugh, lifting up his arms to expose his bracers. “Oh, you will, boy? You have no weapon that can hurt us.”

  That was Radast’s cue. In a single smooth motion, he came to one knee, lifted the nearest crossbow, and fired, muttering numbers all the while. The ghostsilver-tipped quarrel slammed into the throat of the mercenary next to Tigrane. The man fell without a sound, black smoke pouring from his throat.

  Tigrane gaped at the fallen man, eyes wide with shock.

  “Now!” boomed Ducas. “Take them all! Attack!”

  The air echoed with the Legionaries’ answering roar, and they poured from the alleys. They did not bear swords or shields. Instead each man carried a thick oak quarterstaff, heavy enough to crack bone with a single blow. They waded into the mercenaries, striking right and left. Radast snatched up his next crossbow and fired, and another man fell, screaming, a ghostsilver-tipped quarrel buried in his side.