Ghost in the Ring (Ghost Night Book 1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Kylon nodded and dismissed his valikon, the sword collapsing into shards of silver light and vanishing from sight. He did not understand the process by which the sword had bonded to him and allowed him to summon it, but it was certainly useful. He drew the ancient saber and tested its balance. It was a good weapon, the steel sharp, and despite the gaudy jeweled hilt and guard, it would be a useful weapon in a fight.

  Caina lifted her own valikon before her face, frowning. Kylon wondered what was wrong, and then realized she was using the weapon as a mirror to check her reflection.

  “Ah, well,” she said. “As good as it is going to get, I suppose.” She dismissed the weapon, and it collapsed into shards of light. “When we get to the gate, let me do the talking and follow my lead. Seb, I might need you to translate.”

  “Very well.” Seb smiled a little. “I confess I am looking forward to watching this.”

  “Then I’ll try not to disappoint,” said Caina.

  ###

  Caina led the way toward Kostiv, donning her disguise as she did so.

  At least, the disguise she would wear inside her thoughts.

  A disguise, Theodosia and Halfdan had taught her long ago, was almost as much about attitude and accent and expression as it was about a costume and makeup. Caina’s costume was inadequate, and she didn’t have any makeup, so she would need to rely on her posture and accent and poise.

  Maybe that would be enough. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

  Caina changed her posture and expression as they walked. Usually, she tried to move without making any sound at all, a habit reinforced by training and years of experience. Now she walked with a confident stride, her boots striking the road. She kept her chin up, her expression a mask of calm arrogance. Everything about her posture and expression radiated confidence and calm, a noblewoman who expected to be obeyed immediately and without question.

  The town drew closer, and Caina took a good look at the men who guarded the open gate. Both were middle-aged, with graying black hair and beards. Not Legion veterans, she thought, but they weren’t plump enough to be merchants. Likely farmers who had taken refuge in the town for the winter. Both men recognized Sophia, that was plain, and both seemed uneasy at the sight of Seb.

  A battle magus’s black armor often had that effect.

  Caina stopped and gazed at them for a moment.

  “Do either of you speak the Emperor’s tongue?” said Caina in High Nighmarian, keeping her voice cool and remote. “I would prefer to make my wishes known directly, rather than having to rely upon the services of a translator.”

  The two militiamen exchanged a look.

  “I speak some High Nighmarian, my lady,” said the man on the left. He had dark eyes and an old scar beneath his graying beard, his hands heavy with calluses, his trousers and boots marked with dust

  “Capital,” said Caina. “What is your name, townsman?”

  The farmer hesitated, looking at Sophia. “That girl…my lady, you might have some trouble…”

  “That does not answer my question,” said Caina, letting her voice cool. “What is your name?”

  She saw a lifetime of trying to avoid trouble with nobles kick in. “Vasily, my lady.” He gestured at the other man, who was alarmed and trying to avoid showing it. “This is Costin, but he doesn’t speak the Emperor’s tongue. We both farm the valley.”

  “Splendid,” said Caina. She glanced at Sophia. “The girl I have taken into my service tells me that this is the town of Kostiv, and these lands are ruled by the Boyar Razdan Nagrach. Is that correct?”

  “Your service?” said Vasily, gaping at Sophia. “But…”

  “Answer her ladyship’s question,” said Kylon in High Nighmarian. Vasily flinched. Caina kept the smile from her face. Kylon could look downright intimidating when he wanted, and right now his face looked as if it had been carved from stone.

  “Ah…yes, of course,” said Vasily. “Yes, this is the town of Kostiv, my lady, and the lord Razdan Nagrach is our boyar.”

  “Excellent,” said Caina. “I am pleased to see that we are not lost. Now. Does this town support the Umbarians or the Emperor?”

  Vasily managed to look even more alarmed. “Ah…the lord Razdan follows the wishes of the Voivode of Vagraastrad, my lady. But we of Kostiv wish to keep our heads down. We pay our taxes and do our duty to our lord, and otherwise, we keep to ourselves and out of the troubles of others.”

  “A sensible attitude, master Vasily,” said Caina. “A pity more men do not share it. Well, I have a long journey behind me and a longer journey ahead of me, and some rest shall be welcome. I presume your town has an inn for travelers?”

  “It…it does,” said Vasily, “but perhaps it would be better for you to travel on.” He looked at Sophia. “Perhaps it would be better for you to leave the girl and travel onward. The city of Vagraastrad is only a week away, and there are many fine inns there worthy of your ladyship.”

  “Certainly not,” said Caina. “Do not presume to tell me my own mind.” Vasily started to stammer an apology, but Caina talked right over him. “I require rest and fresh supplies, and I understand Ulkaar often suffers from simply dreadful blizzards at this time of year. I have no wish to be caught in the forest when such a storm strikes. No, I shall take my rest here at your inn, and then continue on my way…”

  “The boyar might…take exception, my lady,” said Vasily, looking at Sophia again.

  “Why should he, my good man?” said Caina. “I always enjoy meeting the local nobles of the provinces. They are always so quaintly…rustic, yes, that is the word.” Vasily blinked in alarm. Caina suspected Razdan Nagrach was not the sort of man to tolerate condescension from anyone. “I suppose I shall have to invite the boyar to dinner. I doubt he has the manners to know that he ought to invite the guest to dinner, but one cannot expect refined etiquette in this distant corner of the Empire.”

  “You have taken Sophia Zomanek into your service, my lady?” said Vasily.

  “Certainly,” said Caina. “The journey has been difficult, and one must always be on the lookout for talent in the provinces. Sophia comes from a good local family. Minor nobility, to be sure, but nobility nonetheless. Perhaps she shall accompany me to the Imperial capital of Malarae and make something of herself.” Caina made an airy, dismissive gesture. “But I shall not worry about the distant future today. The name of the local inn, townsman Vasily?”

  “Ah…the White Boar, my lady,” said Vasily. That matched what Sophia had told Caina. “In the town square, facing the Temple and the burgomaster’s house. It…it is not anything fancy, but it’s clean, and the food doesn’t have maggots.”

  “Splendid,” said Caina. She produced a silver coin and handed it to Kylon, who caught the hint and handed it to Vasily. “Please conduct me there at once.”

  Vasily blinked. “I shouldn’t leave the gate while I am on duty, my lady. The burgomaster wouldn’t like it.”

  “Nonsense,” said Caina. “I say it is all right, and I am sure that your comrade can keep watch in your absence. Now then, please conduct me to the White Boar. Surely you do not mean to leave me standing outside the gate all night?” She let disapproval creep into her tone. “The wilderness of Ulkaar is quite dangerous after dark.”

  Vasily turned to Costin and had a hurried conversation with him in Ulkaari. Caina still did not understand the language, but the tone of the conversation was clear enough. They were trying to decide what to do about her. At last Costin shrugged, Vasily made a disgusted noise and then turned back to Caina.

  “Please come this way, my lady,” said Vasily, his voice far calmer. “I will be happy to conduct you to the White Boar inn. But then I must return to my post at once.”

  “Of course,” said Caina. “Please lead the way.”

  Vasily took a deep breath and walked through the gate. Caina shot a quick look at Kylon, but he only shook his head. He didn’t sense any mavrokhi nearby. For her own part, Caina only saw one faint, weak arcane aura within th
e town, coming from the direction of the river. It was the sort of aura created by the spells of the Words of Lore. If the ancient loremasters had indeed taught some of the Words of Lore to the Temple of Ulkaar, and if the priesthood continued the practice to this day, Caina supposed she was looking at the town’s Temple.

  They walked down the main street, cobblestones beneath their boots. The houses had their first floors built from stone, the second of whitewashed wood, and the third and above of dark wood. The roofs were steep, likely to dislodge accumulations of snow during the winters, and every house, no matter how small, had a covered porch. Caina supposed the families gathered on the porches in the heat of the summer, or that the town’s wives would gossip there.

  Right now, she supposed they were about to generate some gossip.

  Every house had a sunstone over the door, and most had sunstones over at least some of the windows. Caina supposed the glow would light the town at night. It would help keep the undead at bay, but it would do nothing against the mavrokhi.

  There were people on the streets, men and women both. The women wore long dresses of blue or green with close-fitting black sleeves, while the men preferred black trousers, white shirts, and long black vests. Both men and women wore heavy cloaks and coats to keep the cold at bay, along with cylindrical fur hats. Given how cold it had been in the forest, Caina found herself envying those hats. Maybe if they lived through the next few days, she could buy herself one.

  The townspeople stared at her as she passed. Muttered whispers in Ulkaari accompanied her passage. Sophia seemed to wilt under their attention at first, but then her expression turned angry. Caina could guess her thoughts well enough. The townspeople of Kostiv had not been willing to lift a finger to save Sophia from the boyar and his Hunt.

  Of course, the townspeople of Kostiv could do nothing to protect themselves from the mavrokhi. Had they objected to the Boyar’s Hunt, no doubt the boyar and his szlachts would have made a few bloody examples to inspire obedience.

  Caina took note of the details as she walked through the town, keeping her icy mask in place. She saw the narrow windows, the high, peaked roofs, the narrow alleyways between the houses. Towards the end of the main street, the houses began to have workshops on the lower levels – a forge, a carpentry shop, a cooper, a shoemaker, a chandler, and so on.

  Kostiv was not large, and it did not take them long to reach the main square. Caina examined it with interest. On her left was a tall, boxy building that had the familiar look of a large inn. On the right side of the square was an octagonal building of stone with a domed roof that looked vaguely Iramisian. The arcane aura came from the building, so Caina supposed that it was the Temple. Next to the Temple stood a house like the others in the town, but larger and of better construction. Likely it was the burgomaster’s house.

  On the other side of the square, overlooking the river, rose the mill. It was a big building, the biggest building in Kostiv, with thick stone walls and narrow iron-barred windows. It had double doors wide enough for a wagon and a team of oxen, though they had been locked and chained shut until the harvest came.

  “I wonder why those walls are so thick,” said Kylon in Caerish, pointing at the mill. “That place could practically be a fortress in its own right.”

  Seb snorted. “You don’t know very much about farming, do you, Lord Kylon?”

  Kylon offered an indifferent shrug. “The wealth of New Kyre comes from the sea, not from the land.”

  “Mills, silos, and barns all suffer from a specific danger,” said Seb. “A large quantity of grain dust gets into the air, and grain dust is flammable. So is flour, and flour burns even more quickly than grain dust. If there is enough flour and grain dust in the air when a spark is struck, the entire building can explode. Likely the mill was constructed of stone to keep the fire from burning down the entire town in the event of an explosion.”

  Kylon glanced at Caina.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I am not stupid enough to set a fire in a mill,” said Caina. “I might have set fire to one or two buildings in an emergency, but I am not mad enough to set fire to a mill.”

  Seb blinked. “Do you often burn down buildings?”

  Caina sighed. “Once or twice.”

  “On the day we met,” said Kylon, “she tried to burn down a warehouse with me inside it.”

  Sophia frowned at them, her fear momentarily forgotten. “Truly?”

  “It was a long story,” said Caina.

  “Oh.” Sophia considered that. “What a peculiar way to meet a husband.”

  “I must take my leave of you now,” said Vasily in High Nighmarian, who had been watching the conversation with unease, since he did not speak Caerish. “The White Boar is there.” He pointed, and Caina saw a sign with a painted white boar hanging over the door. “The innkeeper Rachov is an honest man, and he will see to you.”

  “Thank you, townsman,” said Caina. “Your service has been most appreciated.”

  Vasily bowed and left the square as fast as he could without actually running.

  “We may have frightened him,” said Seb in Caerish.

  “Likely he fears the retribution of the boyar falling upon his head for speaking to us,” said Caina. “But we may be able to forestall that.”

  She walked to the inn. Kylon opened the door and went first, followed by Seb, and then Caina and Sophia went inside. The common room of the White Boar looked like the common rooms of a hundred other inns that Caina had visited. A dozen sturdy wooden tables stood around the room, their surfaces scarred and worn, a half-dozen chairs sitting around each table. A massive fieldstone hearth stood on one side of the common room, radiating heat from its fire, and opposite the hearth stood a long counter.

  The master of the inn stood next to the counter, staring at them with wide black eyes. He was an elderly man with a paunch, his hair and beard white. The innkeeper wore an immaculate white apron over his white shirt and black trousers, and a tremor went through his hands at the sight of Sophia. Behind the innkeeper stood a stocky boy of about twelve who was either the man’s son or grandson.

  “Sophia Zomanek,” said the innkeeper. He let out a barrage of questions in Ulkaari. Sophia answered back, and the innkeeper frowned.

  “The traders’ language?” he said in Caerish. “But why?”

  “Because it is the common tongue of the Empire of Nighmar, master innkeeper,” said Caina in Caerish with a strong Nighmarian accent, “and that, therefore, is the best way to make my wishes known to you.”

  He blinked as Caina stepped towards him. “My…my lady?”

  “What is your name?” said Caina.

  “Rachov, my lady,” said the innkeeper. “This is the White Boar. The inn has been in my family for nine generations.”

  “Splendid,” said Caina. “My name is Caina Amalas Tarshahzon Kardamnos, Countess of the Empire of Nighmar and amirja of the realm of Istarinmul.” Rachov gaped at her. “I shall require three rooms.” One for her and Kylon, one for Seb, and one for Sophia. “I trust that your rates are reasonable, master innkeeper?”

  Rachov recovered his power of speech. “They…they are, my lady.” He named a price that was indeed reasonable, and Caina handed over some of the coins she had taken from the undead warriors of the ardivid. Rachov looked at the coins, blinked at the ancient inscriptions…but money was money, and he took the coins. “Do…you know how long you will be staying, my lady?”

  “I do not know,” said Caina. If she underestimated the boyar, Caina supposed she would end her life in Kostiv. “A few days, most likely. I would like to reach Vagraastrad before the worst of the winter sets in, so I will no doubt depart soon.”

  “I see,” said Rachov. He stepped back to the door behind the counter and opened it, and Caina saw a group of women standing there. Rachov’s wife and daughters, by the look of them, listening fearfully. Rachov gave instructions in Ulkaari, and the women vanished. “My wife and daughters will make your rooms ready, my lady. I fear th
e White Boar inn is a humble place and is unworthy of a Countess of the Empire…”

  “And an amirja of Istarinmul,” said Seb, who seemed amused at the poor innkeeper’s discomfort.

  “Er. Yes.” Rachov blinked a few times. “But my rooms are clean and free of lice and rats, I would give my oath upon that.”

  “Capital,” said Caina. “I assure you, master innkeeper, after the wilds of Ulkaar in the winter the White Boar seems a finer residence than all the palaces of Istarinmul. Might we prevail upon you for some food?”

  “Of course, my lady,” said Rachov.

  Caina gave him a reassuring smile. “I don’t suppose you have any coffee?”

  The innkeeper blinked. “Coffee? I’ve never heard of it.”

  Well, that had been a long shot. Caina never had drunk coffee until Kylon had introduced her and Corvalis to the drink in Catekharon.

  “Tea will be fine,” said Caina. “The stronger, the better.”

  Rachov bowed, turned, and issued a string of instructions to the boy in Ulkaari, and Caina caught Sophia’s name in the torrent of words. The boy nodded and took off across the common room, vanishing into the town square. Caina sat at one of the round tables, and Kylon and Seb followed suit, the wooden chair creaking beneath Seb’s armored weight. Caina hoped his armor did not carve any grooves into the chair. Sophia hovered nervously behind them until Caina beckoned for her to sit down.

  “Let me guess,” said Caina to Seb. “Master Rachov sent the boy to fetch someone in authority?”

  “The burgomaster.” Seb’s eyes flicked over the common room. “Specifically, told the boy…”

  “His grandson,” said Sophia. “Tormin.”

  Seb inclined his head. “He told young Tormin to speak with the burgomaster at once, and to tell him that Sophia Zomanek has returned in the company of a foreign noblewoman, an Imperial or Umbarian magus, and a Kyracian.” He grunted. “A foreign noblewoman, a magus, and a Kyracian walk into a common room. It sounds like the beginning of a joke of remarkably poor taste.”