Ghost in the Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  GHOST IN THE TOWER

  Jonathan Moeller

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1: A Poisoned Heart

  Chapter 2: The City Of A Thousand Towers

  Chapter 3: Motherhouse

  Chapter 4: The Widow

  Chapter 5: Civilization

  Chapter 6: Unconvincing Suicides

  Chapter 7: Rich Rewards

  Chapter 8: Widows & Husbands

  Chapter 9: Orphans

  Chapter 10: Elementary

  Chapter 11: Hunting

  Chapter 12: Black Mirror

  Chapter 13: Preside Over The Ruins

  Chapter 14: Swordplay

  Chapter 15: The Tower of the Cataphract

  Chapter 16: It’s Not Supposed To Do That

  Chapter 17: Sisters

  Chapter 18: An Unfinished Doom

  Chapter 19: Make The World Clean

  Chapter 20: Mask of Mirrors

  Chapter 21: Deserving Death

  Chapter 22: First Magus

  Chapter 23: Gates of the Valikarion

  Epilogue: Games

  The GHOSTS Novel Reading Order

  Other books by the author

  About the Author

  Description

  Caina has hated the Imperial Magisterium, the Empire’s college of magi, for all her life…and the magi hate and fear her right back.

  But the Magisterium has much bigger problems right now, and the First Magus is willing to make a deal. If Caina can find the root cause of a mysterious string of suicides, the Magisterium will leave her in peace.

  Except the suicides are actually murders.

  And unless Caina is clever, she’ll be the murderer’s next victim…

  Ghost in the Tower

  Copyright 2018 by Jonathan Moeller.

  Published by Azure Flame Media, LLC.

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

  Ebook edition published December 2018.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Author's Note

  A map of the eastern Empire and adjoining regions is avaliable on the author's website at this link.

  Chapter 1: A Poisoned Heart

  Caina worked out several different ways to stay warm as the Harpoon crossed the Inner Sea.

  She had traveled on a ship numerous times before. She had traveled during winter before. Caina had not, however, traveled on a ship in the dead of winter before, and keeping warm aboard a ship had its own challenges. The only fire was in the Harpoon’s galley, guarded by the grim, sullen-eyed cook. That made sense because the Harpoon was built of wood smeared with tar, its sails made of canvas and rope, and Caina had burned down enough buildings in her life to know that an errant flame would make the ship go up like kindling.

  So the crew, when not on duty, huddled in the galley for warmth, and so did the passengers.

  Caina was annoyed to realize that of all her companions, she was the least used to the cold. Sophia Zomanek and Ilona of Risiviri had grown up in Ulkaar and found the harsh winters unremarkable. Sebastian Scorneus had spent a great deal of time in Ulkaar, both as a child and later as a brother of the Imperial Magisterium. Her husband Kylon had sailed all over the civilized world and had visited lands even colder than those around the Inner Sea in winter.

  And the cold never annoyed Morgant. At least, he never complained about it, though the Divine knew the man never stopped talking.

  Caina spent a good deal of time exercising in the ship’s hold. The Harpoon’s cavernous holds had been designed to hold meat and blubber harvested from whales, and at the moment it was empty. Caina grasped the iron rings affixed to the ceiling and pulled herself up again and again until her arms trembled with fatigue, and she practiced the unarmed forms she had learned at the Vineyard all those years ago.

  When she was warm enough, she went on deck for a moment to catch her breath. The Harpoon was designed to hunt down the whales of the Inner Sea and harvest their blubber and meat for sale in either Risiviri or Artifel. The ship had four small ballistae attached to swiveling mounts, two on the port side, two on the starboard. The ballistae fired harpoons attached to cables, which pinned the ship to a whale. Of course, the whales could fight back, and the bottom of the Inner Sea was littered with wrecked whaling vessels, which was why Captain Karzov had been more than happy to carry Caina and the others to Artifel in exchange for a reasonable fee.

  Ferrying passengers was safer than hunting whales.

  Though the Sword Caina carried strapped to her back was more dangerous than any whale.

  She stepped onto the deck, breathing a little hard from her exertions in the hold. The Harpoon slid through the waves, the sails billowing as the ship rode the cold wind across the sea. Both the water and the sky were bleak sheets of iron gray. The crew moved about their tasks, wearing heavy coats and cylindrical fur hats to keep the bitter chill at bay. Caina herself wore the heavy leather coat and cloak of wolf fur that Ivan Zomanek had given her before she left Kostiv. At first, she had thought the cylindrical fur hats favored by the Ulkaari looked mildly ridiculous, but after several weeks of travel through the Ulkaari winter, she had come to appreciate them and now wore one herself.

  Morgant the Razor stood at the rail near the starboard ballistae, wrapped in his black coat, the collar turned up against the cold. His close-cropped gray hair ruffled a bit in the wind, and his icy pale eyes watched the waves. Caina wondered if he was composing a painting in his head.

  “Surprised you aren’t drawing something,” said Caina.

  Morgant grunted. “I would, but the Ulkaari are all so bloody superstitious. I heard one of them muttering how I must be a Temnoti priest, and I would capture their souls in the pages of my notebook to be my slaves for eternity. Damned idiots. So, if I drew anything, I would wind up having to kill a few sailors, and then you would complain and make one of your righteous speeches about it.”

  “You don’t have enough tentacles to be a Temnoti priest,” said Caina.

  “Someone’s in a fine mood this morning,” said Morgant. “I suppose the Kyracian managed to tumble you well enough to put a smile on your face.”

  That was in fact what had happened, and also one of the ways Caina had worked out to stay warm on the ship.

  She wasn’t about to tell Morgant that, though.

  “Another day to Artifel, I think,” said Caina.

  “She said, changing the subject,” said Morgant. “But as it happens, yes, we should reach Artifel with the tide tomorrow.” He considered her, his pale blue eyes calculating. “Ever been to Artifel?”

  “No,” said Caina. “The Disali provinces, yes. I’ve been to Rasadda, and I stopped at Arzaxia on my way from Rasadda to Malarae some years ago. But I’ve never been to Artifel.” She shrugged. “My work never took me there.”

  She wondered if that had been by design. Her murdered mentor Halfdan had left a letter with Theodosia, detailing Caina’s family on her mother’s side. Halfdan had never told Caina about House Scorneus because he had thought she would react badly to it. Caina supposed she ought to have felt betrayed by that, but Halfdan had a point.

  Given that Caina had reacted poorly to meeting Talmania Scorneus in Risiviri, and that had almost gotten Kylon and the others killed, Halfdan’s point had been proven
right.

  And given how much Caina loathed the Imperial Magisterium, perhaps Halfdan had made sure that her tasks for the Ghosts had never taken her to the home city of the magi.

  “The City of a Thousand Towers, they call it,” said Morgant. “Pompous name. Though the magi are pompous, so it works out. Are you going to go berserk and start killing every magus in sight when we get there? Maybe while posing dramatically and making a speech about the Balarigar?”

  Caina sighed. One of Morgant’s more irritating qualities was his tendency to probe everyone around him for weakness. She couldn’t get worked up about it, though. For one, he had brought the Elixir Restorata that had saved Kylon’s life. For another, given how she had nearly broken down after Kylon’s near-death at Antonin Crailov’s hands, she had shown all kinds of weaknesses to Morgant.

  Besides, it was too damned cold to get angry. Though maybe losing her temper would help Caina keep warm.

  “No,” said Caina. “I want to get out of Artifel and on the road to Malarae as soon as possible.” She rolled her shoulders, shifting the Sword of Rasarion Yagar in its scabbard. “The longer we’re in Artifel, the more likely it is some ambitious magus will realize that I have the Sword. Then they’ll want to claim it. For the good of the Empire, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Morgant, who shared her cynicism about the Magisterium. Though Caina was cynical about the Magisterium and sorcerers. Morgant was cynical about everything.

  “And the longer we’re in Artifel,” said Caina, voice dropping, “the more likely it is someone will realize Sophia has arcane talent and try to enroll her in the Magisterium as a novice.”

  “Yes, there is that,” said Morgant. “If they try, you’ll attempt to stop them, they’ll call for reinforcements, and then we’ll all be killed.” He grinned at her. “Now that would be a painting, aye? I’ll call it the ‘Last Stand Of The Balarigar.’ Caina Kardamnos dies the way she always wanted to die, fighting the magi.”

  “Don’t be snide,” said Caina. “Caina Kardamnos wants to get back to Iramis, lock the Sword of the Iron King in the Towers of Lore, and bring Sophia to the loremasters for training. She can’t do all those things if she gets herself killed in Artifel.”

  “Good to know,” said Morgant. “Especially since Caina Kardamnos has something of a death wish and wants to get herself killed gloriously.”

  “No,” said Caina, her voice sharp. “No. Maybe when we met. Not anymore.” In Istarinmul, she had tried to deal with her grief and guilt over the deaths of Halfdan and Corvalis by taking on the Slavers’ Brotherhood and Grand Master Callatas. She had wound up saving a lot of people, but at least some of her motivation had been to get herself killed. Now, though…getting killed would make Kylon a widower, again.

  She couldn’t do that to him.

  “Mmm,” said Morgant. “You’ve started referring to yourself in the third person. That’s worrying.”

  “Me?” said Caina. “You started it. Is Sophia in the galley?”

  “Aye,” said Morgant.

  “I’m going to go check on her,” said Caina. She, Ilona, and Sophia were the only women on the ship. Caina wanted to make sure Sophia was never alone with any of the sailors. She thought that fear of Seb, battle magus of the Imperial Magisterium, would keep the sailors from taking advantage of Sophia…but sometimes lust overrode rational thinking.

  “You probably needn’t worry,” said Morgant. “Ilona’s with her, and she’ll have some unpleasant tricks up her sleeve.” He grinned that skull-like grin of his. “I’m sure she’s full of nasty surprises.”

  “Probably,” agreed Caina. “You don’t last long as a Ghost nightkeeper without a few tricks.”

  Morgant only grunted. He seemed to dislike Ilona in some way, though Caina hadn’t been able to pin down why exactly. “Where are the Kyracian and the battle magus? Hammering their swords against each other in the hold?”

  “Practicing at swords, yes,” said Caina. Kylon was a superb swordsman, and loved swordsmanship as an art rather than merely appreciating it for its utility. “You could join them.”

  “Maybe you should,” said Morgant. “You’re the valikarion. Watching you flail about with that valikon is at times painful. Didn’t the Ghosts teach you how to use a sword?”

  “Daggers and throwing knives, mostly,” said Caina. Her technique with a sword had improved since she had found her valikon in the Tomb of Kharnaces, but slowly and out of necessity. “They trained me as a Ghost nightfighter, not as a swordsman. All my instincts are wrong for swordplay.”

  “So now that you have a valikon, you used it to stab Antonin Crailov in the back,” said Morgant. “Fitting.”

  “You helped,” said Caina.

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  Caina smirked. “I thought that you didn’t require thanks.”

  Morgant shook his head. “I never thought I’d say this, but the Kyracian must be an exceedingly patient man to put up with your tongue.”

  Caina almost said that Kylon appreciated her tongue in other contexts, but that would be handing Morgant a golden opportunity for fresh insults. “You never thought you’d say that? That must be the hundredth time you’ve said it. Perhaps your memory is slipping with age.”

  Morgant scoffed and looked back at the sea.

  Satisfied that she had come out on top of that exchange, Caina headed for the galley. She knew Morgant got on both her husband’s and brother’s nerves, but she always felt better after an exchange of insults with him, oddly enough. Perhaps it helped distract from the dark mood that had chewed at her mind ever since she had met Talmania Scorneus.

  Caina stepped into the ship’s galley, closing the door behind her at once to keep too much heat from escaping. It was warmer inside the galley, thanks to the enclosed iron stove at one end of the narrow wooden room. The ship’s two cooks toiled over the stove, preparing the midday meal, and both men turned baleful glares in Caina’s direction as she entered. Caina ignored them.

  Sophia and Ilona sat at one of the tables bolted to the floor, talking quietly. Both were dark-haired and dark-eyed, as was common for Ulkaari women. Ilona wore a blue cloak with a fur collar, tugged close for warmth. Sophia’s clothing was darker and more utilitarian. Ilona was fiddling with the copper bracelet she wore. It looked old and worn and battered, adorned with glass gems. Caina wondered why Ilona kept the thing. Sentimental value, no doubt.

  “How are you feeling?” said Caina, sitting across from Sophia.

  “Better, my lady,” said Sophia. She still looked paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. “I haven’t thrown up since yesterday, and I kept some soup down this morning.” Sea travel did not agree with Sophia. The Harpoon had been barely out of Risiviri’s harbor when Sophia had thrown up for the first time.

  “Yes, she has,” said Ilona, and she patted Sophia’s arm. “I’m afraid it’s not at all fair. This is the first time I’ve been on a ship, too, and I’ve suffered nothing of the sort.”

  Sophia shrugged. “Better than both of us throwing up at the same time. By the Divine, the smell.” She gave a tired shake of her head. “At least we’re on a ship. Then I can throw up into the sea, and no one has to clean it up. But I am very much looking forward to traveling on land again.”

  “You will get your wish,” said Caina. “The city of Arzaxia is in the hands of the Umbarians. When we dock at Artifel, we’ll take the Imperial Highway through Disalia to Malarae, and then find another ship there.” That set off mixed feelings inside Caina’s head. She hadn’t been to Malarae, the capital of the Empire, for years, and she hadn’t visited the Disali Highlands for even longer. When Caina had last been in Malarae, she had been thinking about stepping back from her role as a Ghost nightfighter, about settling down with Corvalis and running the House of Kularus.

  A lot of things had happened since.

  “My lady?” said Sophia.

  Caina blinked and realized that her attention had wandered.

  “You
aren’t going to throw up, are you?” said Ilona with a smile.

  “No throwing up in my galley!” roared one of the cooks from the stove, brandishing a spoon like a sword. “You throw up in my galley, you will clean it up yourself!”

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that before, several times, thank you,” said Caina. She turned her attention back to Sophia. “Well, to pass the time, I think you should teach me some more Ulkaari, and I will teach you some more Istarish.”

  Sophia laughed. “Not that you have much more Ulkaari to learn. You have become very fluent.”

  “No, not fluent,” said Caina. “Conversational. But let’s improve that.”

  She spent the next hour or so teaching Sophia and Ilona various words in Istarish, and they, in turn, told her the same words in Ulkaari. Both Sophia and Ilona already knew a fair amount of Iramisian. That had surprised Caina at first, but the Temple of the Divine used Iramisian as its liturgical language. Sophia and Ilona had been listening to it all their lives.

  “You learned Iramisian very quickly,” observed Ilona. “You must not have lived in Iramis for more than a few months, yet you have a comprehensive knowledge of the language. Though the way you speak Iramisian sounds rather…archaic, for lack of a better word.”

  “I learned the tongue before Iramis returned,” said Caina.

  Ilona blinked. “How?”

  A dark memory flashed through Caina’s mind. The power of Kharnaces held her immobile, the bloodcrystal melting and forcing itself into her mouth and nostrils, the sensation like ice pouring down her throat…

  “Oh, the same way I seem to learn everything,” said Caina. “I learned it the hard way.”

  After an hour, she left the warmth of the galley and went to the hold.

  Her husband and half-brother practiced at swords there.

  Kylon of House Kardamnos and Sebastian Scorneus stood a few paces apart, facing each other.

  Seb looked so much like Caina that it was almost like looking into a mirror and seeing a male version of herself. That had been disquieting at first, but she had gotten used to it, especially since Seb had fought Razdan Nagrach and Cazmar Vagastru and their aunt Talmania without flinching. Kylon was a bit taller than Seb, with close-cropped brown hair and eyes the color of amber or perhaps expensive whiskey. He was holding a wooden practice sword he had taken from the Magisterium chapterhouse in Risiviri, as was Seb.