Ghost in the Flames (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  Ark’s sword trembled, just a bit. Had Caina not been looking right at him, she would not have seen it.

  “So!” said Valgorix, “it is your choice, Brother Gaidan. Either leave, or lead your people to death and horror.” He drew his sword and gestured. “Well? Which shall it be?”

  For a moment neither man spoke. Tension crackled in the air like a thunderstorm. The Sons of Corazain and the militiamen faced each other down, Caina and Ark caught between them. For a moment Caina was certain that Gaidan would attack, that his followers would surge towards them in a wave of howling bodies. Then Gaidan took a step back, his face slick with sweat.

  “The great day of burning will come, and quickly,” said Gaidan. “I have some mercy in me. You have a little while yet, foolish dogs of the Emperor. Leave Rasadda while you still can. Before your time is up.”

  He turned back to his mob and vanished into their midst. Bit by bit, the Sons of Corazain drained from the plaza, departing into the streets and the alleys. A sigh of relief went up from the militiamen.

  “What in the hell were you thinking?” said Valgorix. He flung his helm at the ground, and it clattered at Caina’s feet. “Provoking him like that? Gods, Countess. One more harsh word and we’d have been butchered like sheep.”

  “You will speak more respectfully,” said Ark.

  Caina ignored him. “Am I a daughter of the Empire or am I not? I was sure we were about to die, Decurion. Shall I face death cowering and weeping?” She let her voice tremble and hands shake a bit. It did not take much acting.

  “No. No, indeed not.” Valgorix sighed. “You comported yourself as well as any man. But, gods, Countess. Try not to provoke Gaidan any further.”

  “Why was this man not arrested?” said Ark, ramming his broadsword into its scabbard. “He threatened a noblewoman of high Nighmarian lineage, and threatened to revolt against the Emperor. Were I still in the Legions I would have cut him down where he stood.”

  “Then go!” shouted Valgorix. “Cut him down! And see what comes of it. Had we tried to arrest him, we’d all be dead.” He shook his head. “Countess. Please stay off the streets, and leave Rasadda as soon as possible. Gaidan and his rabble will kill you if they get the chance.” He scooped up his helmet and shoved it back onto his head. “I have warned you.” He turned and walked back to his militiamen.

  Caina took a deep breath, let it out. “That was close.”

  “It was,” agreed Ark. “I would have taken Gaidan’s head before all was done, though. Still, it is plain who is behind the burning murders, now.”

  “Oh?” said Caina.

  Ark frowned. “Gaidan kept talking about a great day of burning. An admission of guilt, if I ever heard one.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caina. “But this corpse was not killed in the same manner as the others. And if he had committed these murders, why show up to take credit for them? Has he made any effort to do so before now?”

  Ark shook his head.

  “And he claimed that his people had been found burned to death in the streets,” said Caina. “He blamed Nicephorus for failing to protect them.” She looked over the plaza, half afraid that the Sons of Corazain would return. “Why do that, if he had killed them?”

  Ark shrugged. “To bolster his standing among the Saddai peasants, obviously.”

  “Maybe,” said Caina.

  His lip twisted. “Unless the Magisterium reached into his head and made him their puppet. By sorcery, of course.”

  Caina kept her voice calm with an effort. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.” She pursed her lips and took a quick glance over Ark’s shoulder. A man in shabby clothing stood in the mouth of a nearby alley, staring at Ark. “Someone’s watching you.”

  “What?” said Ark.

  “No, don’t turn around, he’ll see you,” hissed Caina. “I’m going to take a step and then stumble. You’ll offer me your arm, and take a look as we turn.”

  She took a step forward and feigned a stumble. Ark turned and offered her his arm, and Caina took it. She got a good look at the man in the alleyway then. He was thin, almost emaciated, and his hair had turned prematurely white. His clothes had not been washed in quite some time, and the man himself appeared in dire need of a bath. He looked confused, almost bewildered, and seemed quite lost.

  Ark’s breath hissed through his teeth.

  “Do you know him?” said Caina.

  “Ostros,” said Ark. “Where has he been?”

  “Who is Ostros?”

  “The Ghost circlemaster of Rasadda,” said Ark.

  “Finally,” breathed Caina. She shook free of Ark’s arm. “Finally we can get some answers.”

  Ostros blinked as they approached, and a spasm went through his muscles. A look of horrified recognition came over his face, and he fell back a few stumbling steps. His mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came forth.

  Then he fled, running at a terrific clip.

  “Wait!” said Ark.

  Caina took a quick glance behind her, but saw nothing that should have so terrified Ostros.

  The circlemaster of Rasadda kept running.

  “After him!” said Caina. “If he gets away, we might never find out what’s happened here!”

  Chapter 9 - Pyromancy

  Ark ran with surprising speed for such a big man. Caina kept pace with him, skirts hiked up with one hand, cloak billowing out. Ostros sprinted through the alley, risking a glance over his shoulder, and then vanished around a corner. Ark raced after him, and Caina tried to follow, but her skirt kept binding up her legs. She almost fell, and took a half-dozen stumbling steps to regain her balance.

  Ark glanced back at her.

  “Stay after him!” said Caina. He kept running. Caina reached into her sleeve and drew one of her knives.

  An Imperial Countess did not run into alleys after shiftless vagrants. Too many people had seen her do it, and too many people had seen her face. If they saw her sprinting through the city’s streets, someone might draw conclusions. Besides, she couldn’t run properly with the damnable skirt entangling her legs.

  Time to improvise.

  Her knife ripped through the fabric, tearing the skirt front and back. She cut a strip from the hem, wound it around her face and hair in an impromptu mask, and pulled up the hood of her cloak. It wasn’t perfect, and it looked odd, but it would hide her features and let her move without hindrance.

  Caina sprinted down the length of the alley, her legs eating the distance, the torn skirts flapping around her. She rounded the corner and burst into another plaza. This one sat below one of the smaller black pyramids, and seemed to serve as a bazaar. Booths and stalls filled the square, roofed with bright fabric, merchandise piled high on wooden counters. Caina saw Ark standing in an aisle between the booths, his head turning back and forth.

  Her heart sank. He had lost Ostros. Then she saw Ostros duck behind a nearby wagon. He climbed into the wagon’s bed and slid beneath a tarp, all without making a sound. Caina pulled her cloak close, her head bowed to hide her ragged mask, and walked towards the wagon.

  She was a dozen paces away when Ostros burst from the wagon, his face filled with unreasoning panic, and took off running. Caina ran after him, dodging and weaving through the shoppers. Ostros collided with a merchant carrying a stack of brass pans. He stumbled and bounced off the side of a booth, the pans clanging and clattering against the basalt flagstones.

  “Here, now!” said the man, scowling. “Watch yourself, fool!” Caina pushed past him and reached for Ostros, who sprang back to his feet and threw a palm strike at her face. Caina shoved it aside with her forearm and jabbed for his throat. But Ostros knew the move and countered, slapping aside her hand. He launched a sweeping kick at her ankles, forcing her to jump back.

  “Militia!” yelled the pan merchant. “Brigands in the bazaar! Militia! Militia!”

  Caina caught her balance just as Ostros snatched a pan and flung it at her. She ducked, and pan struck the bellowing m
erchant in the face. Men began to shout, and Caina saw militiamen shoving their way through the crowds. Ostros fled at a sprint, and Caina leapt over the clattering pans and chased after him.

  Damn it, why was he running? He had never seen Caina before, but surely he must have recognized Ark. The rest of the Ghost circle had been murdered. Why would Ostros flee from the only other surviving member?

  Unless the Ghost circle had been betrayed.

  Unless Ostros thought Ark a traitor.

  No. Speculate later. Caina could pry answers out of Ostros at her leisure, but only if she caught him first. She was faster than him, she saw, and in better physical condition. Bit by bit she closed the distance between them as they dodged shoppers and wagons.

  Then Ostros broke to his left, vaulting over a counter and vanishing into a tangled warren of booths and tents. Caina leapt after him, rolling over the counter, dashing down a narrow aisle between booths. She stumbled into a tent. Inside rolled Anshani and Istarish carpets stood in bulging piles, while a wide-eyed fat man struggled to his feet.

  “Please!” he said. “Take my money. Just do not kill me!”

  Caina looked back and forth. Ostros had vanished. Had he gone out the tent flap? Or had he doubled back and vanished into the bazaar?

  There! She saw the tent wall rippling. Caina shoved past the merchant and spun around a pile of carpets just in time to see Ostros finishing cutting a slit into the tent wall. He screamed in frustration and threw himself through the cut, Caina at his heels.

  She emerged into one of the bazaar’s main aisles. She saw Ostros vanish into a gap between two booths, heard the pan merchant yelling, saw the carpet merchant burst from his tent, crying bloody murder. A half-dozen militiamen ran down the aisle, spears in hand, and Caina saw their eyes focus on her tattered cloak and ragged mask.

  Not good.

  One of the peddlers had a brazier on his counter, thin strips of meat sizzling over a blackened grill. Caina’s leg shot up in a kick, her boot smacking against the brazier. It spun end over end, cinders flying, and the hot coals struck the booth’s canvas roof. Flames began to dance over thick cloth.

  “Fire!” screamed Caina at the top of her lungs. “Fire! Fire! Bring water! Fire!”

  Her shout caused a predictable panic. Some shoppers gaped at the flames, while other merchants erupted from their booths, buckets in hands. The militiamen tangled into the sudden influx of people, cursing and trying to beat a path with the butts of their spears. Caina ran after Ostros.

  She came to the edge of the bazaar, saw Ostros sprinting for a three-story mansion fronted in gleaming black marble. He kicked open the front door and vanished inside. Caina sprang up the steps after him and skidded to a stop.

  She found herself in a vaulted hall, ringed by balconies, a pair of fountains sparkling and splashing. Soft music drifted from the corners, and perfume hung light in the air. A girl of about sixteen or seventeen lounged on a marble bench, naked but for a twist of silk about her waist, and a pair of women in similar undress sat on either side of a Saddai man in expensive clothes, laughing at something.

  A brothel. Ostros had fled into a brothel.

  She saw him vanish up a flight of stairs.

  “Here, now!” A huge man stalked towards her, scowling. The establishment’s resident enforcer, no doubt. “You uppity rabble keep your quarrels outside, you hear?” He reached for Caina’s shoulder. “Or I’ll…”

  Caina seized his wrist, twisted it back, and the man’s eyes went wide with sudden pain. She punched him in the throat, and he doubled over, wheezing. The undressed girls and the rich man gaped at her. Caina ignored them, tried to catch her rasping breath, and ran after Ostros.

  She almost caught him on the third landing. He looked even more tired than she felt, his face red, his chest heaving with effort.

  “Damn you!” he croaked, still running. “Leave me alone! You’ll not drag me down to hell with you, not like the others!”

  “I’m only…”

  Ostros kept running. A flight of stairs opened onto the brothel’s roof, and he stumbled up them, Caina at his heels. Exhausted as he looked, he still ran with considerable speed. Caina reached the flat roof just in time to see Ostros leap over the alley, landing on the rooftop of the next building. Caina sprinted to the edge and jumped. She made the leap with a few inches to spare and kept after Ostros.

  “Damn you!” rasped Ostros, still running. “Leave me alone, leave me alone…”

  The chase went on, and they sprang from rooftop to rooftop, Caina’s cloak and torn skirt streaming out behind her like bizarre wings. Caina’s breath tore in her throat, her chest heaving with the effort, her arms and legs like lead. Ostros was faltering, but Caina did not know how much longer she could keep up the chase. This had to end soon.

  Ostros leapt atop an apartment building lined with wooden balconies. Caina jumped after him, and with a final burst of speed, threw herself at him. Ostros overbalanced with a scream, and they rolled over the edge of the rooftop together. Ostros screamed again…and a balcony broke their fall after only a few feet.

  Just as Caina had hoped.

  She had not expected, however, that the brittle balcony would tear free from the side of the building. The boards splintered, and the balcony crashed to the alley below. Caina tucked her shoulder and rolled, spinning over a dozen feet of dusty flagstones before she smacked into a brick wall. The breath exploded out of her, every bone vibrating with the impact.

  She struggled to her feet to see Ostros lying nearby, panting for breath. His eyes bulged as Caina approached, and he tried to sit up. She slugged him, and Ostros fell back against the broken boards with a strangled cry. Caina put her foot on his neck, and Ostros went still.

  “Don’t,” she spat, “move.”

  Ostros managed to nod, trembling.

  Boots clicked against the flagstones, and Ark ran into the alley.

  “Where have you been?” said Caina.

  “I lost the two of you in the bazaar,” said Ark. “Then I saw you chasing him across the rooftops. So much for secrecy. At least you thought to cover your face.”

  “No!” Ostros jerked away from Caina’s foot and crawled backwards. He huddled against the wall, staring up at Ark with terrified eyes. “No! You’re dead. You’re dead! Stay away from me! You won’t drag me down to hell with the others!”

  “What are you talking about?” said Ark. “Do you have any idea how hard we’ve tried to find you?”

  “You won’t take me,” gasped Ostros, shuddering. “They’re all dead. All the others. Crastia and Narmer and Aulean, all of them.” He began to rock back and forth, hugging his knees. “And now you’ve come to take me as well, down to the burning hell with the rest.”

  “What nonsense is this?” snarled Ark. “What happened to the others? Did you betray them? You did betray them, didn’t you? I’ll…”

  “Ark,” said Caina, “stop.”

  Ark glared at her, lips pulled back in a snarl.

  “Look at him,” said Caina. “Just shut up and look at him.”

  Ark did. Ostros kept rocking back and forth, weeping and clutching at his knees.

  “Look at him,” said Caina. “He’s gone mad.”

  “How?” said Ark.

  For a moment Caina thought a magus had broken into Ostros’s mind and shattered his sanity. But no. Ostros had shown a great deal of cunning in the bazaar, even though his panic. Had a brother of the Magisterium invaded his mind, Ostros would not be able to feed himself, let alone think. Caina had seen it before.

  “Fear,” said Caina at last. “Something’s so terrified him that his reason has been overthrown.”

  “He snapped,” said Ark. He sounded incredulous. “I’ve seen it before, in the Legions. But Ostros was always a cool hand.” He shook his head. “Gods, what happened to him?”

  Caina took a quick glance around. No one seemed to have noticed the racket. Perhaps the surrounding apartments were abandoned. Or, more likely, the resid
ents had hidden from the noise. Caina knelt besides Ostros, who pulled away from her, shivering.

  “Ostros, listen to me.” She sighed and undid the improvised mask, revealing her face. “Listen to me.”

  Ostros blinked. “You’re…you’re a woman. You’re that noblewoman I saw with Ark’s shade.”

  “How terribly observant,” said Caina. “But Ark’s not dead. You sent him for help, remember? Well, help has come. I am a Ghost nightfighter, and I’ve been sent to stop these burning murders.”

  “Ark?” said Ostros, blinking at the younger man. “Is…that truly you? You’re not dead?”

  “It is,” said Ark.

  “How do I know you’re not a demon, come to trick me?” said Ostros, his voice beginning to tremble again.

  “I swear it to you,” said Ark. “And not on the name of any gods.” He lifted his left hand, touched the cheap ring on the third finger. “I will swear it to you on Tanya’s name, Ostros. You know what that means to me. I swear on her name that I am telling you the truth.”

  Ostros gave a slow nod. “Yes. It…yes. I know what that name means to you. Not even your shade would lie upon such an oath. I thought…I thought you were dead, though. Like the others. Gods, like all the others.” He rubbed the heels of his hands across his forehead. “I saw them burn, I saw them burn. Oh, Crastia. I heard her scream…”

  “What happened?” Caina grabbed his hands, pulled them away from his face. “Tell us what happened.”

  “It’s so jumbled,” said Ostros. “A nightmare, over and over again.”

  “Then start from the beginning.”

  Ostros nodded, closed his eyes. “It…was a year ago. Yes, I remember. Things weren’t nearly so bad in Rasadda then. We had orders from the Emperor. We were to spy on Lord Nicephorus, to find irrefutable proof of his wrongdoing. Once we had it, the Emperor would remove him from office and bring charges before the Imperial Curia.” He rubbed his chin, the stubble making a rasping noise. “And if we couldn’t find anything, we were to kill him.”

  “What?” said Ark. “You never told me that.”

  “I was the circlemaster,” said Ostros. “Our orders were secret. And it’s easier for one man to keep a secret than seven.”