The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  ###

  "I have done as you asked," said Andromache, gesturing at the Great Market. "An army, brought to Marsis. The city will be taken, soon enough."

  "And I shall receive it," said Rezir, voice sharp, "as you promised."

  "And the ships of New Kyre will come and go freely," said the older stormdancer, voice sharp.

  The younger stormdancer, Kylon, said nothing. Yet his eyes did not move from Caina, and his suspicious expression did not change.

  "The Moroaica keeps her word," said Caina. Sicarion's mercenaries had not bothered to take her weapons. If she struck quickly, she might be able to kill Kylon before he reacted.

  Only to have the older stormdancer cut her down, or to have Andromache call her lightning.

  "You shall have what I promised...if you do as I have asked you,” said Caina.

  Yet what had the Moroaica promised? If Jadriga had succeeded in freeing the fallen angels below Black Angel Tower, she would have killed every living thing in Marsis. Yet Rezir’s invasion must have been planned for months, even years. Why would Jadriga ask Andromache to bring an army to a dead city?

  "As you can see," said Andromache, "I have done as you wished, honored Moroaica."

  "Good," said Caina. "When will you have the city?"

  "Soon," said Rezir. "The Archon's feints worked, and lured the Twentieth and Twenty-First Legions out of Marsis. Only the Nineteenth is left to hold the city, and I have destroyed most of it. Lord Corbould Maraeus is missing, either wounded or slain. Soon my forces will seize the Plaza of the Tower, and I can secure the city's gates. After that we can hold Marsis from the Legions and seize the Citadel for ourselves."

  A simple plan. And one that would most likely work.

  "You have fought well, Rezir Shahan of Istarinmul," said Caina. She needed more information. "Tell me. Have you a plan for dealing with Marsis's magi? They will prove formidable."

  A frown passed over Andromache's serene face. "I shall deal with them myself, honored Moroaica. You always said the Imperial Magisterium was filled with weaklings and fools, children playing at sorcery."

  "And so they are," said Caina, trying to recover. "I do not want you to falter, daughter. Not when you are so near to the prize."

  "And the prize," said Andromache. "I have done all you asked of me. I ask of you the boon you promised me. Where is the Tomb of Scorikhon?"

  Caina had no idea.

  She didn't recognize the name, though it did sound Maatish. Millennia ago, the Maatish Kingdom of the Rising Sun had ruled much of the southern world with an iron fist, its sorcerer-priests, the Great Necromancers, wielding necromancy unequalled in the modern era. But the Kingdom of the Rising Sun had collapsed long ago, though Jadriga claimed to have been a student of a Great Necromancer.

  And, if Caina remembered correctly, a group of necromancers from Maat had fled to Black Angel Tower, to what would become Marsis, until the Kyracians wiped them out.

  "The Tomb," said Andromache, voice urgent. “Will you not tell me where it is?"

  Caina tried to think of an answer.

  ###

  Kylon watched the "Moroaica."

  Her face displayed not the slightest flicker of fear, only cold arrogance and some amusement. Yet the tension within her grew tighter and tighter.

  And when Andromache mentioned the Tomb of Scorikhon, puzzlement flashed through the woman's aura.

  She had absolutely no idea where to find the Tomb, or even what it was.

  ###

  "I will lead you to the Tomb, daughter," said Caina, her mind racing. "Accompany me, and..."

  "She doesn't know," said Kylon.

  Dead silence answered his pronouncement.

  "What?" said Andromache.

  “Her emotional sense,” said Kylon. That explained the unpleasant low-level tingling Caina felt. She would know if Kylon tried to break into her mind – she had experienced it before – but if he had a spell that let him passively observe her emotions, she could not block it. “She has never heard the name Scorikhon before, I am certain of it. Nor does she know of the Tomb.”

  Andromache stared at Caina for a moment, face blank.

  Then she lifted and hissed a spell.

  A gust of wind sprang up from nowhere, tugging at Caina’s bloody clothes and sweat-tangled hair. She stumbled, caught her balance, and started to speak.

  “These games,” she said, “will bring you no closer to…”

  “Silence,” said Andromache. “That was a simple spell, easily blocked. It would not have affected the Moroaica. You failed, Sicarion. Or you were duped.”

  Sicarion frowned. “This is the Moroaica, I …”

  “Enough,” said Andromache, and her gaze returned to Caina. “So, imposter. Who are you?”

  “Anything she tells you,” said Kylon, “will almost certainly be a lie.”

  “I don’t know what any of this is about,” said Caina, which was mostly true. “I’m only a merchant’s daughter. I was walking in the Market when you attacked. I ran for my life, and an Istarish soldier almost killed me. I managed to trick him and kill him, and I took his clothes and armor. I was trying to get out of the city when this fellow,” she jerked her head at Sicarion, “claimed I was the Moroaica, and grabbed me.”

  “Is she lying?” said Andromache.

  Kylon titled his head. “I…am uncertain, sister. She believes what she is saying is true. I suspect it is only partly true, or an incomplete version of what happened.”

  “Very well,” said Andromache. “Tell me this, imposter. Why would Sicarion mistake you for the Moroaica?”

  Caina hesitated, and decided to gamble.

  “Because I killed her,” she answered.

  Sicarion grinned, as if having a private suspicion confirmed.

  “You…killed her?” said Andromache, frowning. “That is not possible. The Moroaica was a sorceress of tremendous strength. One lone woman without arcane skill could not have slain her.”

  Caina shrugged. “It was a close thing. She tried to unseal the prison below Black Angel Tower. I crept behind her and pushed her in.”

  With the aid of Lydia Palaegus’s spirit, one of Jadriga’s many victims. The girl would never again walk under the sun, but her murder had been avenged.

  “If that is a joke,” said Andromache, “you will find that I do not have a sense of humor.”

  “She’s…telling the truth, sister,” said Kylon, staring at Caina with new fascination. “At least about this. She truly believes she slew the Moroaica with her own hands.”

  “Enough of this,” growled Rezir. “I know what is going on.”

  “The enlighten us, my lord emir,” said Andromache.

  “She is a Ghost,” said Rezir.

  The older stormdancer laughed. “A Ghost, lord emir? The Ghosts are a myth. The Emperor of Nighmar’s elite spies and assassins do not exist. The Ghosts are only a shadow upon which idiots blame their failures.”

  “You’re a fool, Kleistheon,” said Rezir. “The Ghosts have bedeviled Istarinmul for generations. They infest my lands in the Vale of Fallen Stars like gnats. Do you know how many of them I had to kill to pull off this attack?” He shook his head. “This woman is a spy. She is only pretending to be your Moroaica to gain information. Or to assassinate me.”

  Andromache said nothing.

  Rezir scowled. “If you will not deal with her, I will.”

  He spurred his massive black horse toward Caina.

  ###

  Kylon watched Rezir Shahan tower over the Ghost. She backed away, eyes wary.

  “Oh, go ahead,” said Rezir. “Draw that knife and stab me. Not that it will do you any good.” His right hand curled into a fist, the crystal in his black ring pulsing with green light. “Tell me everything I want to know. Now.”

  For some reason, the Ghost stared at Rezir’s horse, and Kylon felt her emotional state change.

  Excitement? Or anticipation?

  “No,” said the Ghost.

  “Do
not deny me,” said Rezir. “If you refuse to use your tongue to answer me, I will have it torn from your mouth. If you look at me with insolent eyes, I will have them burned from your skull. Or perhaps I will hand you over to my Immortals. The alchemical elixirs give them appetites beyond those of normal men. After they are finished with you, after you are naked and bloody and beaten, perhaps you will be ready to speak.” He loomed over her. “You are mine, to do with as you please. My family has broken slaves for a thousand years, and I will break you, unless you answer me.”

  The Ghost gazed up at the emir without blinking.

  “Your gilded armor,” she said, “looks painted. Tawdry and cheap. Perhaps if you had not squandered so much of your wealth upon slaves, you could have hired a proper armorer...”

  Rezir Shahan's enraged bellow drowned out her voice.

  He leaned down, seized her by the throat, and lifted her with one hand, fingers digging into her neck. The Ghost was not a large woman, no more than one hundred and thirty pounds, yet it was still an impressive feat of strength. Her face went red and then purple as she gagged.

  “Rezir!” said Andromache.

  Yet the Ghost did not grab Rezir’s wrists. It was the logical thing to do, both to take some of the pressure off her throat and pry the emir's grip free. Yet she did not. Why?

  “Idiot!” said Andromache, stalking to his side. “If you kill her, we shall learn nothing! Put...”

  The Ghost thrust her arm in front of the horse's face. The beast reared its head back, teeth bared, nostrils flaring.

  Near a sleeve soaked with half-dried blood.

  Rezir's mount was a war horse, trained to withstand the sight and smell of blood and violence. Yet even the best-trained horse could panic at the scent of blood, and Rezir’s horse panicked. The beast reared up on its hind legs with a frightened whinny, iron-shod hooves lashing at the air. Rezir overbalanced and fell from his saddle with a curse, pulling the Ghost down with them.

  They both landed in a tangled heap atop Andromache.

  Kleistheon cursed and yanked his sword from its scabbard, blue-white lightning snarling around the blade. Kylon raised his sword, white mist swirling around the weapon. The ashtairoi hurried to Andromache's side, while Sicarion yanked his daggers from his belt.

  The Ghost was already running.

  She darted between two ashtairoi before they could stop her and tore down the street alongside the damaged warehouse. For an agonizing moment, Kylon hesitated. With the aid of his sorcery, he could run her down easily.

  But if Andromache had been hurt...

  He turned, stooped, and pulled Rezir off his sister. Andromache coughed, her face red, and Kylon helped her up.

  “Are you injured?” he said. Gods of the brine, if she had been hurt, they were finished.

  She coughed again, and rubbed her stomach. “I am well. I lost my breath. And my pride, it seems.” She glared at Rezir Shahan. “Fool! What were you thinking? We will learn nothing of use if you kill the woman!”

  Rezir heaved himself to his feet, murder in his eyes. “The House of Shahan has ruled over slaves for a thousand years. My father's fathers knew how to keep the vermin in line, how to break them! When I was finished with her, she would have told us everything we needed to know.”

  “Your plan certainly worked well,” said Andromache. “Truly a work of genius. Little wonder the Padishah never reconquered Cyrica from the Empire.”

  Rezir's eyes narrowed. “At least I was not fooled into thinking that some Ghost bitch was my esteemed teacher!”

  Andromache drew herself up, her emotional sense scarlet with fury, and things might have gone further, but Kylon stepped between them.

  “We have more important tasks,” he said, “than assigning blame. If the Empire retakes Marsis, there shall be plenty of blame for us all.”

  Rezir's scowl did not diminish, but he nodded. “You speak truly. I shall lead our assault into the Plaza of the Tower.”

  “And I shall settle with the magi,” said Andromache. “We shall meet again in the Plaza of the Tower, once you have secured it.”

  Rezir gave a curt nod and turned to his black horse.

  “High Seat,” said Kleistheon, “what about the spy? The woman overhead more than I would wish.”

  “She is unimportant,” said Andromache. “If the Ghosts try to impede us, we shall simply crush them underfoot.” She gazed in the distance. “And yet she was clever enough to fool me.”

  “I can find her, mistress,” said Sicarion, bowing. “Quite easily.”

  “I'm sure,” said Andromache. “You did such a fine job finding the Moroaica. Kylon.”

  “Sister?” said Kylon.

  “Meet me at the Magisterium chapterhouse,” said Andromache. “But first find the spy and kill her.”

  Chapter 10 - Walls of Flame

  Caina ran, her lungs heaving, her throat burning. She heard shouting and the clatter of Rezir’s armor against the cobblestones. No doubt Rezir and Andromache were blaming each other for her escape. That would not last long, though. Once Andromache and Rezir regained their tempers, they would resume their assault on Marsis. And then they would dispatch someone to kill her.

  Sicarion’s ability to track her was bad enough, but she suspected that Kylon was more dangerous. His ability to sense emotions had let him see through her deception with ease. She didn’t know how far his ability to sense emotions extended, but his power might let him track her. Or he might bring Sicarion along, which would let him find her infallibly.

  And if Kylon caught her, she was dead. It was as simple as that. She couldn’t possibly defeat a Kyracian stormdancer in a straight fight. She might not be able to even wound a stormdancer in a straight fight.

  She had only one chance.

  Halfdan’s safehouse. Her shadow-cloak was there, and it protected the mind of its bearer from any arcane intrusions. Which meant it would shield her from both Sicarion’s and Kylon’s powers.

  She ran faster, ignoring the burning pain in her throat.

  If she did not get to the cloak before her pursuers found her, she was dead.

  It was as simple as that.

  ###

  Kylon raced down the street, the sorcery of air lending his limbs speed.

  He opened his arcane senses, letting the emotions of Marsis wash over him.

  As a child, when his untutored abilities had first manifested, it had been terrifying. The constant barrage of emotion rising from the city of New Kyre made him wake up screaming. Later, Andromache had taught him to control his arcane senses, but he had never forgotten the overwhelming terror.

  Now, he felt no terror. The self-control pleased him.

  At least, he did not feel his own terror. Fear flowed over his arcane senses, rising from Marsis like smoke from a fire. The horror of the slaves trapped in the Great Market. The gnawing fear of men and women the Istarish had missed, hiding like mice in the surrounding buildings.

  So much misery the attack had wrought. Was it truly worth it?

  He shoved aside the thought. Andromache knew what she was doing.

  Then he caught the sense of the fleeing Ghost.

  There. That strange mixture of burning rage and cool intellect. She was running as fast as she could. Wise of her. But she could not run fast enough.

  No one could outrun the stormdancers of New Kyre.

  Kylon jumped, sorcery fuelling his leap, and landed atop a nearby warehouse. He sprang from rooftop to rooftop, gaining on the Ghost. Soon she would come into sight. And then Kylon would jump from the roofs and kill her.

  He admired her cleverness, her courage. Instead of brutal torture at the hands of a brute like Rezir, he would grant her the mercy of a quick death.

  ###

  Caina felt the crawling tingle of sorcery.

  Not the queasy feeling of necromancy she had sensed around Sicarion and Andromache. This was gentler, quieter, washing over her like lapping water.

  Water sorcery.

  Kylon.


  Or worse, both Kylon and the older stormdancer Kleistheon. She would have no chance against two stormdancers.

  A laugh burst from her throat, her lungs tearing with pain.