Ghost in the Ring (Ghost Night Book 1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Shut up, Varlov,” said Rudjak. The two men glared at each other for a moment, and then Varlov looked away, muttering under his breath.

  “We seem to have provoked a disagreement,” said Caina.

  “Disagreement is irrelevant,” said Rudjak, his glare turning back towards her. “The boyar gave me this task, and my men will obey my orders. But that is not your concern, just as Ulkaar is not your concern. The boyar has enough enemies, and he will not thank us for earning him new ones. I am prepared to let you and your companions go unharmed, provided you leave at once and do not return.”

  Caina nodded. “And what price will you ask for this?”

  “No price,” said Rudjak. “Simply go at once and do not return…but you will leave Sophia Zomanek with us.”

  “No,” whispered Sophia. “No, please, please don’t.”

  One of the szlachts behind Rudjak and Varlov laughed. “Beg all you want, you little bitch. It won’t save you. You’ll beg and beg and…”

  “Bashkir!” snapped Rudjak. “I said to shut up!” Bashkir fell silent, though he still grinned at Sophia.

  “Tell me,” said Caina. “What is the Boyar’s Hunt?”

  “It is not the concern of foreigners,” said Rudjak, controlling his irritation with an effort. “Razdan Nagrach is the ruler of Kostiv. Its people are his to do with as he pleases. The girl is his to do with as he pleases. Go about your business, and leave the girl. It is not your concern.”

  “There is one more thing I wish to know, szlacht,” said Caina. “What is a mavrokh?”

  Rudjak said nothing. Some of the other men chuckled. Varlov and Bashkir smirked at Caina.

  “You don’t know, then?” said Rudjak.

  “Not entirely,” said Caina. “I do know you like to call yourselves of the Hounds of the Iron King.” The smirks faded. “I do know that each one of you is possessed by a malevolent spirit you call a mavrokh. That likely means that you are a follower of the old ways, a worshipper of Temnuzash, and so is your boyar Razdan. You’re taking advantage of the civil war to return to the old ways of the Iron King since the Temple is too weak and the Empire too distracted to stop you.”

  No one said anything for a moment.

  “She knows too much, Rudjak,” said Bashkir. “If she goes back to the Empire and tells the Magisterium…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Rudjak. “The Umbarians support the old ways, and the Emperor is busy with them.” He looked at Caina. The sneer had vanished, and now his face was cold and hard, the expression of a dangerous man evaluating a potential foe. “But for a foreigner, you are very well informed.”

  Caina shrugged. “I keep my eyes open.”

  “This is your last chance,” said Rudjak. “Leave. Now. We’ll permit you to depart if you leave the girl.”

  “You’re mistaken,” said Caina.

  “Am I?” said Rudjak. “About what?”

  “Enough!” roared Varlov, taking a step forward. He seemed on the verge of flying into a rage, and his dark eyes were taking on a yellowish shade. “I will not permit…”

  “He’ll attack first,” said Caina to Kylon in Kyracian, and he gave a sharp nod. “Be ready.”

  Rudjak raised a hand, and Varlov fell silent.

  “About what,” said Rudjak, “am I mistaken?”

  “This isn’t my last chance,” said Caina. “It’s yours.”

  “And why is that?” said Rudjak.

  “Because this sword,” Caina lifted her weapon, her free hand pointing at Kylon, “and that one are both valikons.”

  “Impossible,” said Rudjak.

  Caina smiled. “Do you often see swords that burn with white fire?”

  “A trick,” snarled Bashkir. “An illusion wrought by the battle magus.”

  “No, they’re not,” said Caina. “They’re real. And I am a valikarion.”

  The szlachts roared with laughter. Only Rudjak did not laugh.

  But the strange yellow gleam had appeared in his eyes as well.

  “Impossible,” said Rudjak. “In ancient days, the Warmaiden and her valikarion warriors overthrew the Iron King. But Iramis burned, and all the loremasters and valikarion were hunted down and slain.”

  “Care to wager your life on that, my lord Rudjak?” Caina pointed her valikon at them. “Because that’s what you’re doing right now. Either I’m bluffing, and these are not valikons…or I’m telling the truth, and you’re about to die. Those mavrokhi spirits might make you faster and stronger than normal men, but a valikon can destroy even a spirit and…”

  She had been talking to Rudjak, but her words had been aimed at Varlov, and the gamble paid off.

  “Enough!” roared Varlov, stalking forward. “If you lack the spine, Rudjak, then I shall act! I will kill them all, and take the girl back to the boyar!”

  He walked forward, and then his body changed.

  The transformation was swift and horrifying. On the first step, his eyes turned a venomous shade of yellow, the color of a seeping, infected wound. On the second step, black claws sprouted from his fingers, and black fur covered his face and hands.

  On the third step, his transformation was complete, and Varlov had become a creature that looked like a wolf the size of a horse. Varlov still stood on his hind legs, and his head looked too blunt to truly be that of a wolf, and malicious intelligence gleamed in his yellow eyes. Somehow his twisted face and muzzle conveyed both lust and hunger and contempt. Slime dripped from his fangs, and he lifted his hands, his claws like daggers.

  The stench was hideous. Even from twenty feet away, Caina smelled the reek of rotting meat and musk rolling off the wolf-like creature.

  If this was a Hound of the Iron King, no wonder the Ulkaari held them in such dread.

  Varlov threw back his head and loosed that chilling howl, and then surged forward like a crossbow bolt, his black-furred body a blur. Sophia started screaming the keening, high-pitched scream of a girl terrified beyond all reason.

  Except Kylon was already moving, the valikon trailing white fire in his fists.

  He leaped, and his sorcery-enhanced jump carried him right into Varlov’s path. He swept his sword around in a sideways swing, and the blade ripped deep into Varlov’s side, black slime spraying from the wound.

  The creature staggered with a howl of agony and fell to his knees, and Kylon stepped back, valikon raised in guard. Caina moved to join him, and Seb followed suit, but it was unnecessary. Varlov’s form shivered and twisted, and he shrank back into human shape. His coat and cloak had been torn, wet with blood pumping from the hideous wound Kylon had carved into his side.

  The arrogance and rage had vanished from his face, replaced by terror.

  He suddenly looked no different than the other frightened young men that Caina had seen die.

  “No,” croaked Varlov, clutching at his side. “You…you killed it. You killed my mavrokh. You…”

  He pitched forward into the snow, his blood sinking into the overgrown garden. If he wasn’t dead yet, blood loss would take him soon.

  The other szlachts stared at the dying man, their shock and chagrin plain. Caina suspected the wolf-form of the mavrokhi was resistant to weapons of normal steel or could heal so quickly that it didn’t matter. They must have expected that Varlov would tear them all apart, and then they would change form and join the attack.

  They had not expected Kylon to cut down Varlov with a single blow.

  For a moment, they would not be thinking clearly.

  “Behold!” roared Caina at the top of her lungs, using one of the theatrical voices that Theodosia had taught her all those years ago. “The Arvaltyri have returned! Once more the bearers of the valikons walk the lands of Ulkaar, hunting for those who follow the old ways of blood and necromancy!” She pointed her valikon at Rudjak. “Come! Which of you is next? Which of you will dare to face the wrath of the valikarion?”

  Rudjak took a step back, and as one, all six remaining szlachts shifted form, becoming those monstr
ous, misshapen wolf-things.

  A bolt of pure terror went down Caina’s spine. The mavrokhi in their wolf-forms were things out of a nightmare. Each one towered over her by a good two or three feet, and they had to be four or five times her weight, and most of their weight was muscle and claw and fang. Even one mavrokh could take her apart with ease, and standing before six of the things was an unnerving experience.

  Yet she kept the fear from her expression…and the mavrokhi flinched from the burning valikon in her hand.

  She might have been frightened of them, but they were just as frightened of her.

  Perhaps they were even more terrified. Caina was very familiar with the idea of her own mortality, but no doubt Rudjak and his men thought that their mavrokhi had made them invincible. Several of Grand Master Callatas’s disciples had been the same way, their thinking so twisted by the nagataaru inhabiting their flesh that they had believed themselves invincible.

  The mavrokhi dropped to all fours. Caina was sure they would attack her, but instead, they whirled and fled into the frozen trees. They vanished from sight in short order, and silence fell over the clearing and the overgrown garden of the Sanctuary Stone once more.

  “They’re gone,” said Kylon. “They’ve moved far enough away that I can’t sense them any longer.” He lowered his valikon, and Caina felt a flash of guilt. He had watched her stride toward the mavrokhi, and had likely been ready to throw himself at the beasts to save her life.

  Well, her bluff had worked. But if it hadn’t…

  Seb was laughing.

  “What the hell is so funny?” said Caina.

  “You just bullied the Hounds of the Iron King into fleeing,” said Seb.

  “I didn’t bully them.” Caina looked at the corpse of Varlov. “We persuaded them.”

  Seb’s laughter faded. “And they’ll run right to Boyar Razdan to tell him what happened.”

  “Yes,” said Caina, looking to the trees.

  The mavrokhi had fled, but she knew they would be back.

  “Are…are we safe?” said Sophia. She was still shaking, tears in her eyes.

  “For now,” said Caina. “But I’m afraid that we’re about to be in a tremendous amount of danger.”

  Chapter 11: Fight or Flight

  Kylon looked at the corpse of the szlacht Varlov.

  Killing the man did not trouble him in the slightest. Kylon had killed many men in battle. If they had been faster or stronger or simply luckier, they would have killed him, but they hadn’t, so he was still alive, and they were not. For that matter, Varlov had been possessed by a mavrokh spirit, and Kylon had sensed the bestial hunger and fury within the spirit. Varlov had apparently taken that wicked spirit into himself of his own free will, and evidently, his character had matched that of the mavrokh.

  Plus, he had threatened Caina.

  No, Varlov’s death did not trouble Kylon.

  What troubled him was Varlov’s friends.

  If Caina had not frightened off those other six mavrokhi, the creatures might have killed them all. The Hounds were strong and fast, and if Kylon had been a half-second slower, Varlov would have killed Caina. If Varlov had kept his wits about him, he might have been able to hold Kylon at bay long enough for Rudjak and Bashkir and the others to transform and join the fray.

  Kylon knew he could have defeated Varlov in a straight fight. He could have taken two or three of the mavrokhi at once, thanks to his valikon and his abilities as a stormdancer. But seven of them would have been fatal. Even with Seb’s help, the mavrokhi would have won the fight.

  “How did you know?” said Kylon.

  “Know what?” said Caina. She stooped next to Varlov’s corpse, searching it with brisk efficiency. Kylon was still not comfortable looting the dead, though he supposed Caina was right and they would need the money.

  “That you could scare them off.”

  “I didn’t.” Caina took a dagger from Varlov’s belt, tested the edge, nodded in satisfaction, and claimed the weapon, along with Varlov’s money pouch. “But I guessed the boyar’s pet mavrokhi were men like the disciples of Grand Master Callatas, proud and arrogant and hungry for power. Rudjak and Varlov and their friends likely thought their mavrokhi made them invincible. And the valikarion were all slain long ago, everyone in Ulkaar seems to know that. So, when they encountered an actual valikarion, when they saw Varlov slain and his mavrokh spirit destroyed…”

  “They panicked,” said Seb in a quiet voice.

  “So it would seem,” said Caina, straightening up and brushing the snow from her knees.

  “That was a hell of a gamble,” said Seb.

  “It was,” said Caina. “But I didn’t have any choice. If we hadn’t frightened off the mavrokhi, they would have killed us. And then probably eaten us.”

  She looked at Sophia, and the girl gave an unsteady nod.

  Sophia’s emotional aura was chaotic against Kylon’s senses. Utter fear had paralyzed her as Rudjak and his szlachts arrived, the cold and terrible fear of a long-awaited doom arriving at last. Shock had replaced the fear as Kylon cut down Varlov and Caina had bullied the mavrokhi into fleeing, and now the predominant emotion in her aura was bewilderment.

  But the fear was still strong.

  “Because they would have eaten us, wouldn’t they?” said Caina.

  “Yes,” said Sophia, her voice an unsteady whisper. “They would have. After they had kept you and me alive for some other torments first.”

  “Rudjak and his men seemed the type,” said Caina. “Sophia. I think it’s time that we were honest with each other, don’t you?”

  Sophia sighed, and guilt entered her sense. “It is my fault. Rudjak will tell the boyar about you, and he will kill you. It is my fault.”

  “I very much doubt that,” said Caina. She turned to Seb. “Tell me about the mavrokhi, these Hounds of the Iron King.”

  “They are possessed by malevolent spirits of the netherworld,” said Seb, “turning them into hybrids of mortal man and bestial spirit.” Caina’s mouth twisted. “You have encountered such creatures before?”

  Kylon remembered Kalgri’s mad, giggling laughter as she killed.

  “Oh, yes,” said Caina. “Please continue.”

  “You have heard the account of Rasarion Yagar the Iron King by now,” said Seb. “To drive the Kagari horsemen from Ulkaar, Yagar turned to necromancy and the worship of Temnuzash, and he created many different creatures to serve him. The Hounds of the Iron King, the mavrokhi, were one of them. The mavrokhi are bestial spirits, and they hunt and devour other spirits in the netherworld, though mortals are their preferred food. Yagar summoned them and bound them into the flesh of his most loyal szlachts. Those men gained the ability to take the form of giant, twisted wolves, which you just observed firsthand. In wolf form, they are deadly fighters. Some of the old tales claim they are immune to iron and vulnerable only to weapons of silver, but that’s not true. They heal incredibly fast, and the only way to kill one in wolf form is to cut off its head and cut out its heart. The mavrokhi can regenerate almost anything else.”

  “Sounds familiar,” said Kylon, scowling as he remembered the nagataaru.

  “And, of course,” said Seb, “they are profoundly vulnerable to the blade of a valikon.”

  “Just as well that we have two,” said Caina. She stared at the trees for a moment, her expression distant with thought, and then she looked back at Seb. “I thought you said the mavrokhi were extinct.”

  Sophia let out a bitter little laugh.

  “Allegedly,” said Seb, “though we have seen firsthand that information is incorrect. After the Warmaiden slew Rasarion Yagar and interrupted his great spell, most of the nobility of Ulkaar were Yagar’s hybrids – mavrokhi and vyrkolaki and undead creatures and the like. The Temple devoted themselves to hunting down the mavrokhi and the Iron King’s other creatures, and once the Empire conquered Ulkaar, the Magisterium did the same.” He shrugged. “Almost certainly they didn’t kill all of the mavrokh
i. Most likely the smarter ones went underground and kept their abilities concealed, like the Temnoti. Though for the boyar to flaunt his mavrokhi so openly…just a few years ago that would have invited destruction from both the witchfinders of the Temple and the battle magi of the Magisterium.”

  “But the Empire is fighting for its life against the Umbarian Order,” said Caina, “and there is no one to stop the mavrokhi.”

  “You heard what Varlov said,” said Seb, looking at the corpse. “The old ways will rise again. Though, alas, it seems that the lord Varlov shall not be alive to see them.”

  “Such a pity,” said Caina. She turned to Sophia. “I would like you to tell me everything about the boyar now.”

  “Why bother?” said Sophia. That stupor-like bewilderment still filled her emotional sense.

  “The more I know about him, the better chance we have against him if it comes to a fight,” said Caina.

  “You can’t…you can’t fight the boyar,” said Sophia. She took a shuddering breath. “He’ll kill us. He’ll kill us all. He’ll kill you for helping me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but he’s going to kill us all.”

  “He can try,” said Caina.

  “It is foreordained,” said Sophia. “It was always my destiny.” She started to cry. “And now it’s yours, too. It’s yours, and you’re going to die, and it’s all my fault…”

  Caina stepped forward, caught Sophia’s chin in her right hand, and forced the weeping girl to look at her.

  “Listen to me,” said Caina, her voice gentle. “Listen to me, Sophia Zomanek. Varlov knew his destiny. It was to be a Hound of the Iron King in service to his boyar. He was going to bring you back to Razdan Nagrach.” She gestured at the corpse. “How did that work out for him?”

  Uncertainty entered the girl’s bewilderment. “Lord Kylon killed him. But…but Varlov was just a szlacht. You can’t fight the boyar. He’s too strong.”

  “Listen to me,” said Caina again, her voice almost a whisper. Sophia stared at Caina, transfixed by those cold eyes. “I’ve heard that before. I’ve heard that so many times. And do you know what happened? I fought two Great Necromancers of Maat, lords of power who would make the boyar and his szlachts look like puppies, and I defeated them both. I went into the netherworld four times, and I came out alive again four times. I burned the Widow’s Tower and the Craven’s Tower, I robbed the Maze of Grand Master Callatas himself, and I escaped. I went into the Inferno and commanded the ancient dead to follow me. I fought the Moroaica herself, the sorceress of legend called the Bloodmaiden and the Herald of Ruin, and I killed her with my own hands.”