Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 06 - Ghost in the Forge (29 page)

“Ghost,” said Zalandris. “Again I wish to thank you.” His weary eyes turned to Basil and Corvalis. “You all fought with valor, but your efforts saved us, Anna Callenius. You stopped Mihaela and destroyed her vile engine of necromancy.” 

“Perhaps, my lord Speaker,” said Caina, “you will take more care when choosing your Seekers in the future.”

Corvalis expected the Speaker to take offense, but the Sage only sighed. “I fear you are correct. To be a Sage of the Scholae is to love knowledge for its own sake, to pursue learning without thought of personal advancement. Too many see our knowledge as merely a pathway to power and dominion. So we must remain withdrawn from the world, lest our powers be abused.”

“As Mihaela abused them,” said Caina.

“An error we shall not repeat,” said Zalandris. “The Scholae has paid an indemnity to the others, but we owe you a debt beyond them, for you saved us from a horrid slavery. Ask for anything, and if it is in my power, I shall grant it.”

Corvalis wondered what Caina would ask. Wealth? Knowledge? She hated sorcery. Perhaps she would refuse to ask for anything.

“Khaltep Irzaris,” said Caina. “I understand he supplied coffee beans to the Scholae?”

Corvalis hadn’t been expecting that.

“He did,” said Zalandris.

“I ask for every sack of coffee beans in his warehouses,” said Caina, “to be shipped to Malarae at your own expense. Additionally, any coins or jewels in his strongbox.”

Basil blinked, and then chuckled. “Clever, my dear.”

“That is not likely to be a very high sum,” said Zalandris. 

“It will be enough,” said Caina. 

“Daughter,” said Basil, amused, “are you planning to go into business?”

“In a fashion,” said Caina. “One more thing, Lord Speaker. I also ask for the slave Shaizid, sister of Ardasha.”

“It shall be as you have say,” said Zalandris. “Again you have our thanks, Ghost, and know that you have the gratitude of the Scholae.”

Caina bowed to the Sage, and they left without another word. 

“I shall speak with Lord Titus,” said Basil as they made for the stairs. “He will want to leave on the morrow, I think.”

“Good,” said Caina. “It is past time we left Catekharon.”

“Titus is speaking with the embassy from Alqaarin,” said Basil. “I will find you at our guest quarters once we are finished.” 

He strode off, leaving Corvalis alone on the balcony with Caina. She gazed at the pool of molten metal far below, her eyes distant.

“I knew you were taken with coffee,” said Corvalis, “but I think you’ll find it hard to drink an entire warehouse of the stuff.”

“It’s not for me,” said Caina. “Though I do intend to drink some of it. But I have a better use in mind.”

“Will you tell me what it is?” said Corvalis.

She grinned. “Basil figured it out.”

“Basil is smarter than I am,” said Corvalis. 

“It would ruin the surprise,” said Caina, “if I told you.” 

“Then I won’t ask any more of you. I already owe you,” said Corvalis, “for keeping Basil from killing me.”

She frowned. “Why would he want to kill you?”

“He told me, when we first met,” said Corvalis, “that if I ever caused you unnecessary pain, he would have me killed.”

“That’s sweet of him,” said Caina.

Corvalis took a deep breath. “I did cause you unnecessary pain. I am sorry for that.” 

“I know,” said Caina. “It is…well, I have no family, you know that.” Corvalis nodded. “But if I did, and if my father was still alive, and he told me to do something I thought foolish…I would believe him. I would trust him. You trust your sister. She just happened to be wrong.” 

“I think,” said Corvalis, “that perhaps I will trust your judgment in the future.”

She grinned. “Ah. I knew you were a wise man.”

Corvalis shook his head. “This is something I never thought I would understand. Or that it even existed. But I love you, and I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you are still alive.”

She smiled, and it was one of the rare smiles that lifted the ice from her eyes. “I love you, too.”

###

Caina walked arm in arm with Corvalis to the palace that housed their rooms.

Shaizid awaited them before the doors. 

“Mistress,” he said, bowing. “The seneschal has told me. I am your slave now.”

“Shaizid,” started Caina, but he kept speaking.

“I wish to thank you, mistress,” said Shaizid. “You found Ardasha, and you…you freed her.” His dark eyes blinked. “I wish…I wish she still lived. But you freed her from the armor.”

“Shaizid,” said Caina, “as your owner, I free you. Immediately.”

Shaizid stared at her.

“I…am free?” he said at last.

“Yes,” said Caina. 

“But where shall I go?” said Shaizid. “I have no family, no home. What shall I do, mistress? I had thought to serve you, but…”

“You know,” said Corvalis, giving Caina a look, “in Anshan, it is customary for freedmen to work for their former masters.”

She smiled. He had figured it out after all.

“May I be your freedman, mistress?” said Shaizid. 

“I think so,” said Caina. “You see, I’ve come into some money and a supply of coffee beans. I wish to open a coffee house in Malarae, Shaizid, and you shall run it for me.”

The possibility had occurred to her during their discussion with Kylon in the coffee house. The Anshani regularly did business in coffee houses, and the foreign merchants visiting Catekharon had taken up the habit. If Shaizid started a coffee house in Malarae, in time merchants and even nobles would gather in the coffee houses to conduct business, as they did in Catekharon. 

And if the Ghosts owned the coffee houses, they would learn many secrets. Secrets the Ghosts could use to keep something like the Forge and the glypharmor from happening again. 

“Of…of course, mistress,” said Shaizid, blinking. “I have always dreamed of owning my own shop. But…but for you to give me such a kingly gift…why?”

“I promised Ardasha,” said Caina, “that I would look after you.”

Shaizid’s jaw trembled. “Thank you, mistress. In Ardasha’s memory, in repayment for your generosity, I swear your coffee house shall prosper.”

“Go,” said Caina. “Gather your possessions. We shall leave for Malarae tomorrow.”

Shaizid bowed and hurried towards the Tower. 

“That was generous,” said Corvalis.

“Oh, he’ll earn it,” said Caina. “And the Ghosts need friends in many places, Corvalis. We have many foes.”

Mihaela had been defeated, her dream of an empire founded upon the glypharmor crushed…but there were still threats. The war between the Empire and New Kyre and Istarinmul still raged. The First Magus would not cease plotting to seize control of the Empire. Renegade sorcerers and slave traders still preyed upon the commoners.

And the Moroaica was out there somewhere. Caina was sure of it.

“True,” said Corvalis, “but we shall face them together.”

Her fingers curled around his. 

“Yes,” said Caina. “Together.”

Epilogue

After a long time, the woman who called herself Jadriga opened her eyes. 

Her vision swam into focus, and she saw that she lay upon a narrow bed in a small room. The blankets felt soft and cool against her bare skin. The only other furnishings were a wardrobe and a mirror, and the heavy iron-banded door had been locked and barred. 

She felt the raw might of her sorcery thrumming through her. 

Jadriga took a moment to acclimate herself to her new form, enjoying the draw of her breath, the heart pumping beneath her ribs. Wearing flesh had its pains, true, but it also had its pleasures. 

She pushed aside the blankets and saw that she was naked. Her legs were long and well-muscled, her belly flat, her forearms and biceps adorned with tattoos of sorcerous sigils. Jadriga rose to her feet and stretched. 

Then she walked to the mirror and examined her new body.

Mihaela’s blue eyes stared back at her. Jadriga ran a hand through the spiky black hair with annoyance. She had never liked having short hair. The priests of the great pharaoh had made Jadriga shave her head in preparation for the ritual of immortality. 

Well, they were dead and she was not.

The hair would grow to a suitable length soon enough. 

She examined herself for a moment longer and then nodded in approval. She preferred a younger host, but Mihaela had been fit and strong, and it seemed a shame to let her body go to waste. And her sorcerous talent had been potent, allowing Jadriga to wield her own arcane strength. 

Strength that she would put to good use.

Mihaela’s mouth tightened in the mirror. The Seeker had suffered grave pain, and in turn she had inflicted grievous suffering upon others. But it was not her fault, not in the end. People were as the world made them. And the world was broken, a torture chamber designed by cruel gods who delighted in suffering. 

Jadriga would make them pay. She had made the necromancer-priests and the pharaohs of old Maat pay, had brought the Kingdom of the Rising Sun crashing into the dust.

But that was as nothing compared to what she would do the gods themselves.

It was time to resume the great work.

She clothed herself in a loose gray robe from the wardrobe. More suitable clothing could be located later. The door was locked and barred, but a simple spell opened it, and Jadriga stepped into the corridor.

Two Redhelms gaped at her in astonishment and scrambled for their weapons.

A heartbeat later they lay dead upon the floor. 

The woman the Szalds named the Moroaica strode past them without a second glance. She came to one of the balconies ringing the Tower of Study’s central chamber, the molten steel glowing far below. The liquid metal was part of the spell binding the great fire elemental, and for a moment Jadriga imagined the destruction that breaking the spell would unleash. Liquid fire fountaining from the earth, the crater lake exploding in a column of ash, Catekharon and the countryside for twenty miles in all directions vanishing in a firestorm. 

For all that and more was coming.

A familiar presence brushed her arcane senses, and Jadriga turned.

A hooded shadow walked towards her, mismatched eyes glinting in the depths of his cowl. 

“Mistress,” said Sicarion with a bow.

“Sicarion,” said Jadriga. She paused for a moment, feeling her teeth with her tongue. Speaking with a new mouth was always a strange experience. “You disobeyed me.”

“I would never dream of such impudence,” said Sicarion.

“Truly?” said Jadriga. “I told you to keep Caina Amalas alive. She would have been most useful to me. Instead you allowed Mihaela to slay her.”

She remembered everything she had experienced while in Caina’s body. The pain, the fear, the rage. The unyielding determination. And the warmth of her feelings for Corvalis, the sensation as the former assassin kissed her lips…

Jadriga pushed the useless memories aside. 

“You mistake me, mistress,” said Sicarion. “For Caina had two souls in her body. If we are to be precise, Mihaela killed you, not Caina.”

Jadriga laughed. “You argue like a merchant.”

“And since we are discussing agreements,” purred Sicarion, “you promised that I could kill the world.”

“I did,” said Jadriga. Sicarion was a mad dog, a vicious killer who lived for the sheer joy of slaying, but he had his uses. “I take it all the Sages and Seekers are below?”

“Dismantling Mihaela’s work,” said Sicarion. His scarred face twisted into a grin. “All of them are in her workshop. The rest of the Tower of Study is unattended.”

“I asked you for a distraction,” said Jadriga. “Could you not have worked anything simpler?”

Sicarion shrugged. “You did not specify. And I like killing people.”

“Come,” said Jadriga. 

She strode past him, and Sicarion followed at her right hand.

A short walk took her to the Chamber of Relics and the Scholae’s more impressive feats of sorcery. Jadriga ignored them and walked to the center of the room, to where the Staff of the Elements waited upon its plinth. Lightning crackled up and down its length and froze into ice crystals even as Jadriga approached.

“Finally,” she murmured, picking up the Staff. The ice crystals transmuted into flames, dancing up her hand and crackling against her wards.

Sicarion laughed. “I wish I could see Talekhris’s face when he learns you took it.”

“You could peel it off and keep it as a memento,” said Jadriga.

She gripped the Staff and lifted it, feeling its might, sorcerous strength to match even her own great power. 

It was the first of the relics she needed.

And with those relics, she would remake the world and punish the gods for their cruelty. 

THE END

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GHOST IN THE FORGE Bonus Chapter 1 - Knives in the Night 

Caina Amalas opened her eyes.

Something was wrong. 

She turned her head, her hair rustling against the pillow.  A pale shaft of moonlight leaked through the balcony doors. In the gloom she saw the table that held her mirror and cosmetics, a wooden stand for Corvalis’s weapons and armor, and the wardrobe that contained her disguises. Corvalis lay next to her, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with his breath. 

It was utterly silent.

Yet Caina was certain that she had heard someone scream.

She pushed aside the blankets and stood, her bare feet silent against the floor, her hair cool and dry as it brushed her shoulders. Her right hand slid under her pillow and retrieved a dagger, the razor-edged blade glinting in the moonlight. 

She had a hard time sleeping without a weapon close at hand. 

Caina crossed to the balcony doors and pushed them open a few inches, looking into the street below. Thick fog choked Malarae’s streets, transformed into a pale silver haze by the full moon overhead. Successful merchants occupied this district of the Imperial capital, merchants with money enough to purchase townhouses separate from their shops, but not enough to imitate the lifestyles of the high lords. Through the silvery fog, Caina glimpsed the houses across the street, tall and narrow with small courtyards encircled by iron fences. The smell of brine and rotting fish filled her nostrils, carried by the fog rolling off the harbor.

Yet the street was deserted. 

She shook her head in annoyance, still certain she had heard someone scream. 

Caina stepped away from the doors and saw Corvalis Aberon standing behind her. 

He was tall and lean, his arms and chest heavy with muscle, his eyes like cold jade disks. Strange, spiraling black tattoos marked his pale torso. Inked by an Ulkaari witchfinder, the tattoos gave him a measure of resistance to sorcery, which had saved his life more than once. 

A dagger gleamed in his right hand. Like Caina, he always slept with weapons at hand. Unlike Caina, he was unable to sleep at all unless he had a weapon nearby.

His training had been rather more brutal than hers.

“There was a time,” said Caina, “when I would have been alarmed to find a naked man with a dagger in my bedroom.”

Corvalis barked his short, harsh laugh. He ran his free hand over his face, the blond stubble rasping beneath his callused palm. “What is amiss?”

“I heard someone scream,” said Caina. 

Corvalis looked out the balcony doors and back at her. 

Caina shrugged. “Perhaps I dreamed it.”

“No,” said Corvalis. “A dream wouldn’t fool you.”

“One of the servants?” said Caina. They had a pair of maids, a cook, a seneschal, and a footman who doubled as the night watchman. Had someone attacked the house? Any number of people wanted Caina dead, and Corvalis’s father would never forgive his defeat at Catekharon ten months earlier. “No. If they screamed, it would have awakened both of us.”

Corvalis shook his head. “Eight months we’ve played this game, and I still cannot get used to the idea of servants.”

Caina shrugged. “If it helps, think of them as Anton Kularus’s servants, not yours. A man like Anton Kularus has servants.”

She looked into the fog-choked street. It was still deserted. 

“True,” said Corvalis. “I’ll go speak with them and see if anything is amiss, let them know you heard someone screaming.”

Caina smiled. “They’ll think I’m flighty and irrational.”

“Ah,” said Corvalis, “but you are Anton Kularus’s mistress, and a man like Anton Kularus has both servants and a flighty, irrational mistress.” He put a quick kiss on her lips. “Go to sleep. I’ll speak with the servants. If there’s anything wrong, I’ll come get you. Otherwise you’ll want to be rested when we speak with Master Basil tomorrow.”

Caina nodded. “He has news about the new Lord Ambassador from Istarinmul, I am sure…”

She shivered, and not just from the cool air against her bare skin. She remembered the last time she had seen a Lord Ambassador from Istarinmul, the day that Rezir Shahan had come to Marsis. But his arrival had been a trap. Rezir Shahan had allied with Andromache of New Kyre and smuggled troops into the city. Caina remembered the ambush, women and children screaming as lightning fell from the sky, the shouts of fighting men, Nicolai sobbing for his mother, the cold blue glow in the Immortals’ eyes…

She looked back at the street and saw a gleam of blue light in the mist.

Caina went rigid.

“Caina?” said Corvalis.

For a dreadful moment Caina thought she was dreaming, that her nightmares had come to life. A man walked on the street below, moving at a rapid pace. He looked like a caravan guard out for a night of drinking, clad in leather armor and a ragged cloak. Yet there were no taverns nearby, which made it an odd place for a caravan guard to go after dark. 

But his eyes reminded Caina of her nightmares. 

Specifically, the blue glow coming from his eyes..

“Corvalis,” whispered Caina. “His eyes.”

Corvalis frowned.

“He’s an Immortal,” said Caina. 

“So,” said Corvalis, “what is one of the Padishah of Istarinmul’s elite soldiers doing in Malarae?”

They looked at each other, and Caina knew what they had to do next. 

Caina had taken many names and disguises in her life. Countess Marianna Nereide, a minor noblewoman. Marina, the maid of Theodosia, the leading lady of the Grand Imperial Opera. Marius, a caravan guard. Anna Callenius, the daughter of the wealthy master merchant Basil Callenius. Sonya Tornesti, the mistress of the rakish merchant Anton Kularus. 

But she changed names and identities as easily as she changed clothing, for she was a Ghost nightfighter, one of the spies and agents of the Emperor of Nighmar. 

Caina moved to the wardrobe, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror as she did. In the moonlight she looked lean and pale, the muscles in her arms and legs visible, the scar below her navel an ugly gash across her belly. The moonlight caught her pale blond hair and turned it silver.

Blond hair. She was just vain enough to find that an irritation. 

But dyeing it had made sense. There were many among the nobles and the magi of Malarae who would kill a black-haired, blue-eyed woman of the Ghosts on sight, and Caina needed to disguise herself. 

She opened the wardrobe, lifting out the false bottom, and all thoughts of her appearance fled her mind.

Caina dressed in black boots, trousers, and a black jacket lined with steel plates to deflect knife blades. Black gloves covered her hands, and a mask concealed everything except her eyes. Daggers went in her boots, throwing knives up her sleeves, and a belt holding more knives and other useful tools went around her waist. 

Last came the cloak.

The cloak was a marvelous thing, woven of both spider-silk and shadow by a method known only to the nightkeepers of the Ghosts. It blurred around her, merging with the shadows. Additionally, the cloak also protected her from mind-affecting sorcery, and rendered her undetectable to divinatory spells. 

It had saved her life more than once.

She turned just as Corvalis finished dressing. He had clothing similar to hers, a shadow-cloak over his shoulders, but he wore black chain mail beneath a leather jerkin and carried a sword at his hip. 

She nodded, and Corvalis headed for the balcony with a slender rope in his hands. He hooked the grapnel to the iron railing and tossed the rope to the street below. Corvalis scrambled down the rope, bracing his boots against the wall, and Caina followed him. 

“Most women,” said Corvalis, releasing the rope and stepping onto the street, “want a house with a balcony for the view.”

“I never cared much for scenery,” said Caina. She peered into the mist for a moment. There was no sign of the Immortal. Or of anyone else, for that matter. “This way.”

Corvalis nodded and let her take the lead, his hands remaining near his weapons. He was stronger than Caina, and better with his blades. But she was far more observant.

And this damnable mist and the narrow alley presented ideal conditions for an ambush.

She scanned the walls and the windows, looking for any sign of the Immortal, while the rest of her mind turned over the possibilities. 

Why was an Immortal in Malarae? The Empire and Istarinmul had been at war ever since Rezir Shahan’s attack, and Caina had spent months hunting Istarish and Kyracian spies through the Empire’s capital. The Immortals were the most ferocious soldiers in Istarinmul, yet their vicious temperaments made them poor spies.

To say nothing of the glowing eyes. 

Was the Immortal an advance guard for the new Lord Ambassador? Or had the Immortal gone renegade? Caina thought…

She heard a yelp in the fog ahead, followed by the sound of a fist striking flesh. 

Caina came to a stop, as did Corvalis. She listened for a moment, the fog cold around her, and again heard a shout, followed by the sound of scuffling. She beckoned, and they moved forward in silence. They turned a corner, and the alley ended in a courtyard shared by several different houses. No lights shone in the darkened windows overhead, but the moonlight and the fog illuminated three figures.

The first was the Immortal, glowing eyes narrowed in thought. The second was a lean man in servant’s livery, a dagger in his hand. He held the dagger at the throat of a brown-skinned Istarish girl of about eighteen, his free hand clamped over her throat. The girl wore a ragged gray shift, her black eyes rolling back and forth in terror. 

She was also at least eight months pregnant, her belly tight against the thin cloth of her shift. 

“You have found her, then?” said the Immortal in Istarish, his voice a rasping rumble.

“Yes, master,” answered the man in the servant’s livery. “The girl fled out the back door as her father fought. A pitiful sacrifice. As if a pregnant slave girl could escape the grasp of the Kindred.”

Caina saw Corvalis’s hand move to his sword. She knew of the Kindred, the outlaw families of assassins that terrorized their victims. She had crossed paths with them more than once.

And Corvalis’s father had sold him to the Kindred. 

“Good,” said the Immortal. “Take her to the harbor. We shall secure her until we contact the master.” 

“What of her father?” said the Kindred assassin. “He killed several of my brothers. The blood of the Kindred must be avenged.”

The Immortal growled, and the assassin took a prudent step back, dragging the slave girl with him. The alchemical elixirs the Immortals ingested made them stronger and faster than normal men. They also induced fits of murderous fury. 

“Your brethren were paid to take the girl,” said the Immortal. “If they were foolish enough to fall beneath an old man’s rusty sword, that is not my concern. Now. Gag the girl and come.”

The assassin nodded pulled a gag from his pocket.

“Gently!” said the Immortal. “If she miscarries your life shall not be worth two copper coins.” 

Caina looked at Corvalis, and he nodded.

He disappeared into the fog, moving with the stealth of a master Kindred assassin.

Unsurprising, given that he had been one for years. 

Caina strode forward, letting her shadow-cloak billow behind her. 

“Hold!” she roared, using the rasping, snarling voice she employed while masked. 

Both the Immortal and the assassin whirled to face her. 

“Help me!” the slave girl screamed in Istarish. “Oh, gods, please, please help…”

“Shut up!” said the assassin, striking her across the face with the handle of his dagger. Her head snapped sideways, blood flying from her lips. 

“Let her go,” said Caina. 

“Be off with you,” snarled the Immortal. “This is not…”

“Fool,” said the Kindred. “Don’t you recognize the cloak? That’s a Ghost, one of the Emperor’s pet rats.” 

“The Ghosts?” said the Immortal. “The Ghosts are a myth.”

“And one is standing before you in the flesh,” said the Kindred. “Kill him now, or else we’ll never get out of Malarae alive.”

“Very well,” said the Immortal, drawing his sword with a steely hiss. The Immortal strode towards her, and Caina remained motionless, eyes fixed on the Kindred assassin. 

An instant later the Immortal let out a shocked gurgle, and a foot of bloody steel blade erupted from his chest. 

Corvalis’s gloved hand gripped the Immortal’s shoulder, the other twisting the blade of his sword. The Immortals were some of the most dangerous and ferocious soldiers in the world, and only a skilled fighter could prevail in a fight against one.

So better not to fight at all.

The Kindred snarled a curse and shoved the girl aside. She fell with a cry, twisting so she landed upon her rump rather than her belly. The assassin ran at Caina, yanking a second dagger from his belt. Caina rolled her right wrist, a throwing knife dropping from its sheath to her gloved hand. She took a step forward and flung the knife, her entire body snapping like a bowstring. The assassin jerked to the side, but the knife raked the right side of his jaw, and the man stumbled with a cry of pain.

Caina yanked the daggers from her boots and charged. The Kindred assassin recovered his balance and came at her, both his daggers a blur of steel. But Caina had fought Kindred assassins before, had learned many of their secrets from Corvalis, and knew what to expect. She blocked the thrust of his right dagger, ducked under the swing of his left, and rammed her right dagger into his belly.

The Kindred doubled over with an agonized groan, and Caina grabbed his hair and opened his throat. Blood sprayed over the damp cobblestones, and the assassin pitched forward onto his face and lay motionless. 

Caina let out a long breath Corvalis as joined her. The dead assassin’s blood pooled on the ground, seeming to drink the light. She had killed a lot of men in her time as a Ghost, and it troubled her how easy it had become for her to kill without hesitation, without remorse…

The slave girl sobbed, taking a step back.

Caina pushed aside her doubts. She had more immediate problems.