Ghost in the Ring (Ghost Night Book 1)

by Jonathan Moeller

  “It seems,” said Kylon, adjusting the saber at his belt, “that we have set the storm among the fishermen.”

  Seb blinked. “Eh?”

  “Kyracian metaphor.” Caina watched the door, wondering how the burgomaster would react. “The closest equivalent in the Empire is to say that we have set the fox among the henhouse, or kicked the hornet’s nest.”

  Sophia frowned. “Who would kick a hornet’s nest? That seems like a very foolish thing to do.”

  “It means,” said Caina, “that we’re about to cause a lot of trouble. Everyone in the town knows about the Boyar’s Hunt, I assume. They know you disappeared. Likely they think you either ran for your life, or the boyar just killed you himself. But after missing for a few days, you return in the company of powerful strangers. How do you think they will react?”

  Sophia blinked. “It will be the chief gossip for many days.”

  “Exactly,” said Caina. “I wonder whether Rachov will bring out our meal before Tormin returns with an invitation for us.”

  As it turned out, Tormin won the race. The door burst open, and Tormin came inside, breathing hard. He looked around and trotted over to his grandfather, and Rachov and the boy spoke in low voices for a few moments. Then Rachov grunted, straightened up, and approached the table with an apologetic air.

  “My lady,” said Rachov, “I am sorry to trouble you, but our burgomaster has issued an invitation for you to speak with him at once. Forgive me, but…but I think it would be best if you talked with him right away. Things are not well in Kostiv,” his eyes flicked to Sophia, “and we would not want for you to become caught in our troubles.”

  Caina smiled at him. “Oh, it’s much too late for that.”

  The poor innkeeper gaped at her.

  “Could you hold our meal for us?” said Caina, rising to her feet. “I think we will be hungry after we speak with the burgomaster.”

  Chapter 13: Knights of Legend

  Sophia followed Caina, Kylon, and Seb as they left the White Boar and walked into the town’s square.

  Sophia had never liked the town square. True, on market days the square was full of farmers selling crops and pigs and cows, and on the festival days the square filled with dancing and laughter and music.

  But on days when old Boyar Vlad had visited the town to dispense his justice, his men had built gallows in the center of the square and hanged those who had earned the boyar’s justice. The boyar himself had watched the executions, grim and unsmiling. Vlad Nagrach had been an iron-hearted, unyielding man, and he never had so much as blinked as criminals begged for his nonexistent mercy. Sophia had been terrified of the boyar as a little girl.

  How strange that she now found his son far more frightening. Boyar Vlad had only hung thieves and murderers and petty criminals. He had never demanded that the town surrender seven girls and women for the Boyar’s Hunt.

  Caina strode across the square, the cold wind tugging at the skirts of her long coat, a few strands of black hair dancing alongside her head. Sophia had to admit that she had no idea what a proper Nighmarian noblewoman was supposed to look like, but she thought Caina looked…important. Like someone in authority. Certainly, if someone looking like that had given Sophia a command, she would have jumped to obey it.

  The transformation was astonishing. When Sophia had met Caina, the woman had seemed calm and collected and soft-spoken. Now she spoke in tones of ringing command, her Caerish overlaid with a heavy Imperial accent. Even her stride and posture had changed. It was like she had transformed herself into another woman. Seb seemed amused by it. Lord Kylon took it calmly. Perhaps he was used to it.

  “Sophia,” murmured Caina, her queenly expression still in place. “The burgomaster’s name. Magur?”

  Sophia nodded.

  “What is his wife’s name?”

  “Olya,” said Sophia. “They have seven children.” She hesitated. “Their daughters are twins about two years older than me. The boyar also chose them for the Hunt.”

  Caina’s eyes flashed. “Did he? Interesting. Thank you, Sophia.”

  They walked to the burgomaster’s house. Sophia liked both the burgomaster’s house and the Temple far better than the square. Old Magur was a kindly man and sometimes gave sweets to children on festival days. And Sophia had spent many contented hours in the Temple, listening to Brother Valexis and his acolytes lead prayers to the Divine or sitting in the old man’s lessons as he taught the children of the town to read and write and do sums. A few of the town’s women had whispered about Sophia learning to read and write, but Uncle Ivan had laughed at them.

  “I’m an old man, and the girl’s got to look after her own damn self when I’m gone,” Ivan had said. “If she knows how to do sums so no one can cheat her.”

  A burst of fear went through Sophia. She hoped that the boyar had left Uncle Ivan alone. She hoped that Ivan would not suffer for her decision to flee.

  They strode up to the door to the burgomaster’s house, and Kylon knocked three times. The door swung open. Magur’s youngest son Yuri stood there, a shaggy-headed boy of about nine, and he gaped at them with fear. Sophia could sense the mixture of confusion and excitement and fear coming from him.

  Then Yuri bowed.

  “Please, my noblest lady, come inside,” he said in Caerish, pronouncing the words carefully. “The burgomaster welcomes you to his…his…horny home.”

  “Humble,” Sophia corrected him.

  Yuri flashed her a grateful look. “His humble home.”

  “I am honored to accept the burgomaster’s invitation,” said Caina in a grave voice. “Please, young sir, lead the way.”

  Flustered, Yuri bowed again and led the way inside. They walked through the small entry hall and into the dining hall. A long, polished wooden table ran the length of the hall, lined by sturdy chairs. A fire crackled in the large hearth, and the paneled walls were covered by tapestries showing the Warmaiden’s victory over the Iron King and the Iron King’s victory over the Kagari khans.

  Three old men stood near the fire, waiting for them.

  The first was Magur, burgomaster of Kostiv. He was bald as an egg, with barely a fringe of gray hair left on the back of his head. His clothes were little different than the other men of Kostiv, save that he wore his golden chain of office around his neck.

  The second man was Brother Valexis, the keeper of Kostiv’s Temple. He was even older than Magur, so old that he looked withered, and his brown robe nearly swallowed him. The seven-pointed star of the Divine hung from a chain around his neck, and she saw the fear in both his expression and in his emotional sense.

  It was fear for her.

  Ivan Zomanek was the final man. Despite his crippled right leg, her uncle was still a big man, with arms like tree trunks, and he wielded his blacksmith’s hammer with vigor. He leaned on a cane of iron that he had forged himself, his face like old leather, his hair and beard the color of the iron he worked.

  Sophia barely remembered the fire that had killed her parents and crippled her uncle. All she remembered was the smoke and the flames and the screaming, remembered coughing as she called for her mother. A fallen beam had crushed Ivan’s leg, but he had clawed his way free from the burning house, taking Sophia with him.

  That had been eight years ago.

  For a moment Ivan, Valexis, and Magur stared at her in silence.

  “Oh, child,” said Magur in Ulkaari at last, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Shall we bring our disasters upon these strangers as well?”

  Sophia swallowed and gathered her courage. “We should speak the traders’ language, your honor. All of our guests speak it, but only the Lord Sebastian speaks Ulkaari.”

  “Very well,” said Magur in Caerish. He bowed in Caina’s direction. “I am Magur Kostakov, the burgomaster of Kostiv, as my father was before me. This is Ivan Zomanek, the best blacksmith in the village, and Brother Valexis of the Temple.”

  “A pleasure,” said Caina. “I am Caina Amalas Tarshahzon Kardamno
s, a Countess of the Empire of Nighmar and an amirja of Istarinmul. This is Kylon of House Kardamnos, my husband, and Sebastian Scorneus, a battle magus of the Imperial Magisterium.”

  She didn’t mention that Sebastian was her half-brother, despite their obvious resemblance. Perhaps Caina still wasn’t happy with that fact.

  Ivan scoffed and looked at Kylon. “You let your wife do your talking, son?”

  Kylon gave an indifferent shrug. “She’s better at talking to strangers. I’m better at killing them.”

  Magur and Valexis both flinched, but Ivan barked his harsh laugh. “Ha! A good answer. My Malia was the same way.” Aunt Malia had died before Sophia had been born, and Ivan had never remarried. “She could always talk me down when I wanted to thrash some damn idiot or another.” He sighed. “Pity she’s not here now. Though maybe it’s just as well she has not lived to see such dark days.”

  “My lady, forgive us,” said Magur. “I fear you have walked into something of a…local problem. Nothing to trouble you with, I think.” He hesitated. “Might I ask your business in Kostiv?”

  Sophia wondered how Caina could answer that. The truth was wildly implausible.

  “You may,” said Caina. “I am simply passing through. We are departing Ulkaar, and Kostiv happened to be in our path. We met young Sophia upon the road, and she has been a most useful local guide.”

  Magur frowned. “Then you intend to take her with you when you depart Ulkaar?”

  Caina shrugged. “If it does not cause strife with her family, but I understand her parents are dead. Sophia is a talented young lady, and she will go far in the courts of the cities. And if her parents are dead, perhaps there is nothing to tie her to Kostiv.”

  “Yes,” said Ivan at once, and Valexis nodded his agreement. “Yes, my lady, if you are willing, you should take Sophia from Kostiv at once.”

  Magur turned an anguished look at the other two men. “And what of the rest of us? What of those of us who have daughters and cannot flee?”

  “Then we should write to the Boyar of Risiviri,” said Ivan at once. “He is a bitter enemy of the Voivode of Vagraastrad. He will aid us.”

  “Or to the High Temple in Risiviri,” said Valexis. “If they can dispatch witchfinders to Kostiv, they might be able to aid us. Or perhaps they can even send magi.” He glanced at Seb. “One has already come. Perhaps more shall arrive as well.”

  “One magus could do nothing against the boyar’s men,” said Magur, his pain and fear visible both on his face and in his emotional sense. He shifted to Ulkaari, not wanting the outlanders to hear and forgetting that Sophia had said that Seb spoke Ulkaari. “The boyar would kill them all. A lone battle magus could not stand against the mavrokhi, no matter how skillful and powerful. As for this foreign Countess? The boyar would take her and make her run in his Hunt as well. You know Razdan Nagrach as well as I do, and humbling a proud foreign noblewoman would please him to no end.”

  “Perhaps she can help us,” said Ivan in the same language.

  Valexis shook his head. “I doubt it. A Countess of the Empire and an amirja of Istarinmul? A ridiculous story! Likely she is a scoundrel who assumes we are rural simpletons and seeks to fleece us for our money. Even in Kostiv, we have heard of the woman Caina Amalas. What would this so-called Balarigar be doing in northern Ulkaar? No, this is a trick.”

  “Men of Kostiv,” said Caina in Caerish, raising her hands. “A moment.”

  Magur, Ivan, and Valexis all looked at her.

  “I should remind you,” said Caina, “that Lord Sebastian speaks fluent Ulkaari, and will tell me everything you just said.”

  Magur made a strangled sound. Valexis looked dismayed, and Uncle Ivan only seemed amused. Of course, he would find it funny. He had always had the most inappropriate sense of humor.

  “Well,” said Seb, “they think you are a scoundrel, and that you are impersonating an Imperial noblewoman to steal money from them.”

  Caina laughed.

  “Why is that funny?” said Sophia.

  “I’ve been accused of a lot of things,” said Caina, “but I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of impersonating myself.” She shook her head and turned her attention back to Magur. “Let me see if I understand correctly, burgomaster. If I take Sophia from Kostiv, you fear the boyar’s wrath will fall upon you.”

  “I wish to speak bluntly, my lady,” said Magur.

  “I would prefer it.”

  “Good.” The burgomaster took a deep breath. “You should leave at one, my lady. Leave Kostiv and never return. The boyar will punish us for letting Sophia run. We all knew she would run. To look the other way as she fled into the haunted forests was like looking the other way while she tied a noose around her neck, but at least in the forest she had a chance of escape. But now you have brought her back into the boyar’s reach. He will kill her…and he will kill you, my lady.”

  Caina raised an eyebrow. “He would dare to kill an Imperial noblewoman?”

  Magur’s face was harsh. “Yes. It is time for more blunt speech. You are a long way from the Imperial capital, and you are traveling without guards, save for your husband and this battle magus. They will not be enough to protect you from Boyar Razdan. If he decides he wishes you dead, he will kill all three of you, and no one in the Empire will ever know your fate.”

  “He may also keep you alive, Countess,” said Valexis, “and that would make death preferable, I fear.”

  Caina looked at the Brother for a moment and said something in a strange, fluid-sounding language that Sophia did not know. She recognized it, though. It was the language of the solemn liturgies of the Temple, the language of the Warmaiden as she had led her Arvaltyri against the Iron King and his demons.

  Whatever Caina had said, Valexis reacted as if she had slapped him. What little color was in his face drained away, and he stared at her in shock. Both Magur and Ivan gave the old Brother a surprised look, and then Magur shrugged and turned back to Caina.

  “Brother Valexis did not exaggerate the danger.” The burgomaster tugged at his chain of office. “For your own sake, my lady, please. Leave at once. If the boyar turns his wrath towards you, then nothing will save you.”

  “It is possible,” said Caina, “that you are wrong about that. And it is already too late.”

  Magur frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Does the boyar have many szlachts in his service?” said Caina.

  “Not many,” said Magur. “Only sixteen, but they are all…ah, they are all dangerous warriors.” Sophia had seen him start to say the word “mavrokhi” but change his mind at the last moment.

  “Is one of them named Varlov?” said Caina.

  “Yes.” Magur’s frown deepened. “He is a cruel man, and takes what he wishes from the town’s merchants without paying.”

  “He’s also dead,” said Caina.

  Stunned silence greeted her announcement.

  “Impossible,” said Valexis at last.

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” said Sophia. “Lord Kylon killed Varlov.”

  “He was with another szlacht named Rudjak,” said Caina. “It seems the boyar told Rudjak and his szlachts to hunt down Sophia after she fled from Kostiv.” Ivan’s expression tightened. “They caught up to us about half a day northeast of here. Rudjak demanded that we hand Sophia over to him. I refused.”

  “You are lying,” said Magur, his anger pushing against Sophia’s senses. “You are all lying. If you challenged Rudjak and the szlachts, they would have killed you all and carried off Sophia to the castle to await the Hunt.”

  “Why?” said Caina. “Because they are mavrokhi?”

  Silence answered her.

  “Varlov transformed in front of us,” said Caina. “His eyes turned the yellow of an infected wound, fur covered his skin, fangs filled his mouth, and claws like daggers grew from his fingers and toes. I would say he looked like a giant wolf, but no wolf ever looked so ugly or smelled so foul. He charged us, and Lord Kylon cut him open and
killed him.”

  “Impossible,” breathed Magur. “The mavrokhi…Varlov would have just healed from even a grievous wound, and Rudjak and the others would have killed you all.”

  “They were frightened,” said Caina, “and they fled. I expect they ran right back to the boyar to tell him what happened. Meanwhile, Sophia led us here, and we are now speaking with you.”

  “That is impossible,” said Ivan, wariness in his sense. “The mavrokhi are very hard to kill. One of them is a match for a score of stout men, and you are two men, a woman, and a girl. Varlov alone could have killed you all. You couldn’t have defeated Rudjak and his men.”

  “We didn’t,” said Caina. “They were dismayed after Varlov’s death.”

  Ivan frowned and looked at Seb. “What, then? Are you a magus of mighty spells? One of the high magi, maybe?”

  “I fear not, sir,” said Seb. “I am quite good with a sword, but with my spells, I am only middling, much to the lasting despair of my teachers.”

  “Then how,” said Ivan, “did you…”

  Magur’s temper snapped.

  “Enough!” bellowed the burgomaster, his face turning red.

  They all looked at him, save for Valexis. The Brother of the Temple was still staring at Caina, shaken. Sophia wondered what Caina had said to him.

  “This is intolerable,” said Magur, his hands and voice shaking with rage. “Bad enough that we must live under Razdan Nagrach’s tyranny. Bad enough that we must surrender our daughters to slake his lusts, and there is no one to defend us or help us. But now you come here and give us false hope!” He leveled a thick finger at Caina. “I know what you are.”

  Caina remained calm. “What am I?”

  Her voice was quiet now, the imperious accent gone, just as her voice had been when Sophia had met her in Sigilsoara.

  “You are a trickster,” said Magur.

  “I cannot disagree.”

  Magur gave a shake of his head. “No. No. You’ve spun a web of lies around us. You’ve convinced Sophia that you can save her, but nothing can save her. Nothing can save us. If we don’t hand over those seven girls to the boyar, he’ll kill more of us.” He shook his head, despair and rage filling his sense, the grief of a father watching two of his daughters go to a horrible fate. “Maybe if we hand you over to the boyar, he will show us mercy.”