Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (16 page)

“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, tapping 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.

The slavers broke and ran. Some tried to flee into the streets, while others fell back into the tenement. It did them no good. The Legionaries swarmed over them, striking them down with two-handed swings from their heavy quarterstaffs. Tigrane hacked back and forth with his sword, and managed to cut down a Legionary. He leapt free, sprinting down the street. 

“Now!” said Caina, springing towards the edge of the roof, Ark at her heels. 

Radast snatched up another crossbow, a quarrel ready and loaded. This quarrel had been tipped with a small wooden ball. Radast took aim and squeezed the trigger. 

The blunted quarrel smacked into the back of Tigrane’s left knee. His leg folded, and Tigrane fell on his face with a bellow of pain.

“Damn it,” said Radast, “I was aiming for his neck.”

Two coiled ropes lay at the edge of the roof, grapnels buried in the shingles. Caina seized the nearest rope and jumped, her cloak billowing around her. The rope played out, its length ending a few feet above the street. Caina kicked off the wall, hit the street in a roll, and came to her feet. She heard a grunt and a curse as Ark landed with less grace.

Tigrane staggered to his feet, favoring his right leg, as Caina sprinted at him. He snarled and lashed out with his sword. Caina caught the blow on her silver Kyracian dagger and sidestepped, launching a sideways kick as she did so. Her boot slammed into Tigrane’s bruised left knee, and he hopped back a step, growling in pain. Caina slashed her dagger across his shoulder, smoke rising from the wound, and Tigrane howled in pain. But he recovered his balance, drawing his sword back for a blow. 

Just in time to meet the two-handed swing of Ark’s shield. The thick oak slammed into Tigrane’s face with all of Ark’s strength behind it. Both teeth and blood flew from the blow, and Tigrane fell back against the wall. Ark cast aside his shield, seized Tigrane’s wrist, and ripped the sword from his grasp. Tigrane fell to his knees, blood splattering from his mouth.

“Do it!” said Ark.

Caina pulled a cloth pad from a pouch at her belt, dripping with some vile concoction that Halfdan had brewed up. She pushed the pad over Tigrane’s bleeding nose and lips. Tigrane struggled uselessly against Ark’s grip for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he went limp. 

Ark sighed and pulled a gag and a hood from his belt. “Well done.” 

“You too,” said Caina. “Don’t hood him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s no use to us if he chokes on his own blood,” said Caina. “Just blindfold him and gag him. I’ll get Halfdan.”

Ark nodded and went to work. Caina hurried back to the tenement. The fight was over. Some of the slavers lay dead, their heads cracked by the heavy blows. The Legionaries were binding the rest, stripping them of their bracers and weapons. The soldiers avoided looking at her. Caina wasn’t sure what Ducas had told them, but none of them wanted to look too closely at the Ghosts. 

“Well?” said Ducas, standing before the tenement’s door.

“We’ve got him,” rasped Caina in her disguised voice. 

“Ah,” said Ducas. “Nice to know all this hard work wasn’t for naught.”

“My father?” said Caina.

Ducas jerked his head at the door. “Inside, second floor. Some of the slavers got inside. Said he found something that you’d find interesting.” 

Caina nodded and waited for a trio of Legionaries to come down the stairs, dragging a pair of captured slavers between them. Then she hurried up the stairs herself, entering a gloomy hallway. A door stood open at the end of the hall, the faint glow of a lantern spilling across the floor. She saw Halfdan just within the door, masked and hooded, and walked towards him.

The tingle of sorcerous power rubbed against her skin, and she hesitated. Then she pushed into the room.

“I think,” said Halfdan, voice quiet, “that we’ve found out how Icaraeus smuggled slaves through the city.”

Two mercenaries lay on the floor, the blood from their crushed heads soaking into the boards. Three children and a woman stood against the wall, faces blank, eyes gazing at nothing. For a moment Caina thought that the horror of the scene had overthrown their reason. Yet their expressions seemed so very…empty. 

They each wore a delicate chain collar around their necks, the links shining. Caina hesitated, and waved her hand in front the woman’s face. She blinked, once, but made no other sign. Caina brushed a finger against the chain links, and jerked it back as the buzzing, tingling sensation of sorcery surged up her arm. 

“The collars,” said Caina. “It was the collars, wasn’t it? They’re enspelled to turn people into mindless puppets. Agria and Jadriga must have manufactured them. That’s how Icaraeus did it. He wasn’t smuggling anyone through the city. So long as he kept the collars covered, he could march his slaves through the city in broad daylight, and no one would look twice.”

“And he didn’t bother using them at the White Road Inn,” said Halfdan, “because he didn’t plan on leaving any witnesses alive. Probably the planned to force them to wear the collars once they arrived at Marsis.” 

Caina peered at the woman’s collar, saw a small lock holding the links together. “And that’s why Jiri’s informers and Ducas’s men never saw anything.” She knelt and began searching the corpses. “They were looking for a reeking slave ship, a warehouse full of slaves. No one thought to look for groups of people moving quietly through the street. No one.” She found something cold and hard in a pocket and pulled it free. It was a small steel key, carved with runes.

“Though we still don’t know where Icaraeus and Agria are hiding the slaves,” said Halfdan.

“We will soon,” said Caina. “We got Tigrane.”

“You did? Good.” Caina heard the satisfaction in Halfdan’s voice. “He’ll tell us everything he knows, once I’m done with him.”

Caina unlocked the collar and yanked it away from the woman’s throat. She shuddered, took a deep breath, and began to shriek, backing away from Caina in fright.

“You’re safe now,” rasped Caina. “The slavers are dead and your children are safe.” She knelt and undid the collars around their necks. The children wailed and clung to their mother’s skirts. “They will not return.”

“We’re safe?” the woman whispered. 

Caina nodded. 

“Thank you,” said the woman. “But…who are you?”

“No one important,” said Halfdan. 

They scooped up the collars and left. 

###

“Well?” Halfdan asked Ducas.

“Twenty-six slavers dead, twelve captured,” said Ducas. He smirked. “Only one dead and a few minor wounds among my men. These dogs were used to terrorizing women and children, and not facing men of the Legion.” 

“Make sure to destroy both the collars and the bracers,” said Halfdan.

Ducas grunted. “Sorcerous collars. Icaraeus is a clever bastard. I never would have guessed.” He lowered his voice. “You’ll be…ah, speaking with Tigrane?”

Caina nodded.

“Good,” said Ducas, eyes glittering. “Do let me know how it goes.”

###

An hour later Caina, Halfdan, and Ark stood in a half-circle around Tigrane, Jiri and Radast watching from a cot. The lights had been extinguished, and only a single dim lantern threw illumination upon their prisoner. Tigrane sat slumped in a wooden chair, face crusted with blood, his arms and legs bound with thick rope. The ugly charred cut from the silver dagger gaped through a tear in his tunic.

“I think you hit him too hard,” said Jiri. 

Ark’s voice was cold. “I wanted to hit him harder.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Halfdan, tapping a small amount of gray powder in a cup of water. “This will wake him up.”

He waved the cup under Tigrane’s nose. A moment later Tigrane shuddered, mouth working. He let out a long groan and lifted his head, looking around with bloodshot eyes. 

“Ah,” he rasped. He coughed and spat out some half-dried blood. “I see I have been captured. Though…you’re not Legionaries, are you?” He frowned. “So…you must have snatched me off the street during the fight.” 

Halfdan said nothing.

Tigrane’s bloodshot eyes wandered over them, looking at their masked faces. She saw the gears working behind his eyes. Despite herself, Caina felt a twinge of admiration. Not many men could retain the ability to think things through in such dire circumstances.

His eyes fell upon Caina. 

“You,” said Tigrane. “I remember you, or at least that mask and cloak. You tried to kill His Lordship at the White Road Inn. That means…that means…” He swallowed, and a twitch of fear went over his face. “That means you’re Ghosts.”

“The Emperor has no Ghosts,” said Halfdan, his voice unrecognizable behind a thick Kyracian accent, “only those who watch from the shadows.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Tigrane, licking his cracked lips. “So…one of you must be that locksmith His Lordship wanted dead.” 

Caina frowned. Tigrane was a little too clever.

“I don’t suppose Icaraeus told you why he wanted the locksmith dead,” said Halfdan.

Tigrane shrugged. “He didn’t say. I didn’t ask. His Lordship has clients, and they paid him to do the deed. His clients didn’t say why.”

“Perhaps the locksmith offended Lady Palaegus in some way, hmm?” said Halfdan.

Tigrane blinked in surprise, and let out a long sigh. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

“Shadows never sleep,” said Halfdan.