Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts) (3 page)

“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 new 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!” 

Caina often had this nightmare.

But this time the pale girl in the gray dress stood in the corner, watching with dark eyes.

###

Caina awoke, shuddering. Halfdan lay nearby, wrapped in his blanket, snoring. The fire had died down to coals, and pale moonlight bathed the countryside. Ark stood some distance from the fire, eyes on the road and hand on sword hilt. Caina rose, wrapped herself in a cloak, and walked to his side.

“Cannot sleep?” he said.

“No. Anyway, it’s my turn at watch.”

“Not that it matters. I doubt I could sleep.” He hesitated. “Nightmares?”

Caina nodded. “The usual ones.” She had told him about some. Others they had survived together. “But different, though. I saw a little girl in a gray dress, watching me.”

Ark grunted, and Caina thought his eyes strayed towards her stomach, where the thick scars lay. “I’m sorry.”

Her hand twitched towards the scars. “Is that what you think it was about?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. You told me about…what happened to you, how you’ll never have children.”

She had her mother to thank for that. 

“Perhaps,” said Caina. “Halfdan always said…”

“That nightmares are scars of the mind,” recited Ark.

Despite herself, Caina smiled. “True. But sometimes they mean nothing. I’ve never seen this little girl before. Perhaps I drank too much of Halfdan’s damnable wine.”

He snorted. “You had half a cup. If that.”

“Too much. Wine puts me in a foul mood.”

“If it will cheer you up,” said Ark, “we could double back and burn down the Ragman’s Inn.”

“Oh, stop that.” 

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment. 

“What about you?” said Caina. “You haven’t slept yet. Are you worried about nightmares?”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Ark, “about the last time I came to Marsis.” 

“Oh,” said Caina. 

“I was going to kill myself,” said Ark. “I thought about throwing myself from the walls of the city, but I decided that I had been a centurion of the Eighteenth Legion, and I would damn well die by the sword. So I headed north I wanted to see the ocean one last time before I died.” He snorted, laughing at himself. “But the road was too crowded, and I wanted to be alone when I did it. I wandered a little farther than I intended…and met Tanya.”

Caina nodded. He had told her this story before. She knew how it ended. 

“When you were in the Imperial capital,” said Ark. “Did you ask after her?”

“I promised you that I would,” said Caina. “I disguised myself as a sailor, visited taverns, warehouses. No one had seen a Szaldic slave woman named Tanya, or her son.” 

Ark nodded. 

“She’s probably dead,” said Caina. 

He nodded again, silent in the darkness.

“The Ghosts have spies in every port with a slave market on the western seas,” said Caina. “Not a one of them saw the slavers’ ship. It probably sank at…”

“I know,” he said, sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” said Caina.

“It was not your doing,” said Ark. “I know that she is dead…and yet I wish I knew for certain. I would give anything to know what happened to her, to my son.” 

“Sometimes that can be worse,” said Caina. “I saw what happened to my mother and my father with my own eyes.”

“You loved your father, did you not?” 

“I did,” said Caina, touching the ring hanging from her neck. 

“Would you rather lie awake at night, wondering what had happened to him?”

“I suppose not,” said Caina. “But if it meant I had a chance of seeing him again, however small…I don’t know, Ark. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “What a pair we are. The widower and the barren woman. Halfdan has strange tastes in recruitment.”

Ark coughed. “But effective. You saved Rasadda, didn’t you?”

“We saved Rasadda. Both of us. How many times must I remind you?”

Again they stood together in silence.

“Independent slavers have been attacking the western coast for years,” said Ark. “But I wonder…”

“What?” said Caina.

“The slavers who took my wife. Were they working for Naelon Icaraeus and his father?”

“It was five years ago, wasn’t it?”

“About.” 

“I don’t know,” said Caina. “They might have been. Haeron Icaraeus was buying slaves in bulk for Maglarion's experiments by then.” Something occurred to her. “That’s the real reason you came here, isn’t it? Not because you hate slavers. Because the particular slavers who took your family might have been working for Icaraeus.” 

“Still clever,” said Ark. “And when you and Halfdan find Icaraeus’s hiding place, when you have him at your mercy, I will ask him. I will ask him if the men who attacked the village of Hruzac were working for him.” She heard his fingers tighten against his sword hilt. “And if they were…the gods themselves will not save him from me.” 

Caina said nothing. She didn’t know if the gods existed or not. She knew that some of their priests taught mercy, kindness, compassion. 

Yet they also taught justice.  

“I don’t think,” she said, “that the gods would want to.”

###

Eventually, Ark let her take the watch and went to sleep. Caina kept watch for the rest of the night, keeping an eye on the road and the sea. Asides from the running lights of a ship heading south, she saw nothing. Caina wondered if that was Icaraeus’s ship. If the renegade slaver had made allies out of Marsis’s noble Houses, then he would almost certainly flee to the city. 

She watched the distant lights until they vanished. 

Later Halfdan took her place at watch. Caina caught a few hours of sleep. If she dreamed, she didn’t remember it. 

When morning came, Halfdan made breakfast, and Caina wandered off to work through her forms. She felt better when she was done. Vigorous exercise always cleared the mind. 

After breakfast, Halfdan drove, Caina sat next to him, and Ark paced alongside the wagon. More traffic began to fill the road, merchant wagons traveling back and forth, liveried horsemen performing their masters’ errands, and commoners going about their business. 

She smelled the city before she saw it. Baking bread. Tar and salt. Wood and coal smoke, lots of it. And the smell of ordure, common to every city in the Empire. 

“Almost there, Father?” There were enough travelers in earshot that she didn’t dare speak openly.

“Aye, lass,” grunted Halfdan. A wagon laden with barrels groaned ahead of them, the driver cursing at his oxen. “And we would have been there an hour past if not for the fool in front of us.” 

“Your father, my lady,” said Ark, “likes to drive fast.” 

“Bah,” said Halfdan. “Time is wasting. No one ever turned a profit sitting about.” 

A short time later Marsis, the chief city of the western Empire, came into view.

It sprawled as far as the eye could see, spread out between the northern bank of the River Marentine and the seashore. Hundreds of ships crowded the fortified harbor, and Caina saw a score of vessels maneuvering to their piers or setting out to sea, surrounded by clouds of seagulls. A pair of fortified lighthouses sat at the harbor entrance, topped with both beacons and war engines. Ferries and boats choked the river, carrying cargo from the towns and villages further inland. Caina saw mansions, temples to the gods of the Empire, and high towers, all surrounded by countless houses and warehouses and shops. 

And above it all loomed the Citadel.

It sat atop a crag overlooking the harbor, walls and gates and scarred towers piled atop each other. The walls bristled with catapults and ballistae, reading to bring death down upon anyone foolish enough to assault the harbor. But Caina barely noticed the grim Citadel, or the city sprawled at its foot.

The massive black tower rising out of the Citadel’s heart drew her eye.

It stood six hundred feet tall from crown to base, blacker than the night. It looked too delicate, too slender to stand, and yet it did. It had stood for a long time. It was older than the Empire. Perhaps it had been there before mortal man had ever come to Marsis, if the stories were true.

“Welcome,” said Halfdan, “to Marsis. City of a thousand ships.”

“I thought that was New Kyre,” said Caina. 

Halfdan chuckled. “It is. But don’t tell the Lord Governor that, or any of the highborn. Marsis likes to pride itself as a city of trade, where any merchandise can be bought and sold.”

“Like slaves?” muttered Caina. 

She saw Ark staring at the city, face grim, and knew that he was thinking about his wife. 

The docked ships drew her eye. She looked over the hundreds of ships, and wondered how many might carry chained slaves.