The Ghosts Omnibus: The Kyracian War

by Jonathan Moeller

  She followed his eye and saw Shaizid hurrying across the Hall.

  "Of course, Father," said Caina.

  She gathered her skirts in her hands, crossed the Hall of the Assembly, went over the bridge crossing the flow of molten steel, and approached Shaizid.

  The slave straightened up as she approached. "Ah...mistress. Yes. May this slave serve you?" He looked at his feet. "My...my question of you, mistress. Did you..."

  "Shaizid," said Caina, "I need your help. And, no, I have not yet found Ardasha. But if you help me now, I might get closer to finding an answer.”

  “What would you have of this slave, mistress?” said Shaizid. He met her gaze, briefly, and then looked at his feet again.

  “Do you know the Sage Talekhris?” she said.

  “Yes, mistress,” said Shaizid. “He is reclusive, even for a Sage. Often he is gone from the Tower of Study for long periods of time.”

  “Take me to his rooms,” said Caina.

  Shaizid flinched. “Mistress…it is not allowed for a slave to approach a Sage.”

  “You won’t be approaching a Sage,” said Caina. “You’ll be merely taking me to his rooms so I can approach him.”

  Shaizid hesitated.

  “If he asks,” said Caina, “I will tell him that I found his rooms on my own. He will never know that you were involved. And if I speak with him, perhaps I can learn what happened to Ardasha.”

  That made up Shaizid’s mind. “This way, mistress.”

  He led her from the Hall of Assembly and up a long, narrow flight of spiraling stairs. Shaizid turned a corner, and Caina found herself on a balcony encircling the cylindrical chamber at the heart of the Tower, the pool of molten steel glowing far below. Wooden doors lined the balcony, each carved with elaborate Maatish hieroglyphs.

  “Where are we?” said Caina.

  “Near the top of the Tower,” said Shaizid. “Some of the Sages keep their quarters here.” He swallowed. “A slave…a slave should not be here. I must go, mistress.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina. “If I learn anything, I will let you know. Which door belongs to Talekhris?”

  Shaizid pointed, bowed to her, and fled back to the stairs. Caina crossed to the door, surprised at how easy this had been. For all their power, the Masked Ones seemed indifferent to their security. Perhaps they did not expect…

  She stopped a foot from the door, a crawling tingle passing over her skin.

  Powerful wards waited upon the door, wards that would burn her to ashes should she touch the wood.

  She suspected that knocking upon the door was out of the question.

  Caina reached for her belt. A sheathed dagger with a curved blade waited there, and it looked like the sort of ornamental weapon a wealthy woman might carry. She drew the dagger, the silvery blade gleaming. The weapon had been fashioned from ghostsilver, a rare metal that was harder and lighter than steel.

  It was also proof against sorcery.

  Caina took a deep breath, rested the tip of the dagger upon Talekhris’s door, and raked it across one of the hieroglyphs. The dagger’s hilt grew hot, painfully hot, beneath her fingers, and the blade flashed with a white glow. The door shuddered in its frame, and Caina hoped it would not explode into a rain of splinters…

  The door jerked open, and Talekhris stood there, his silvery rod leveled at her face.

  “Anna Callenius,” he said. He scowled at the door. “You ruined several of my wards.”

  “I would have knocked,” said Caina, “but I suspect the door would have exploded.”

  “Not quite,” said Talekhris, frowning at the groove she had carved into the wood. “But the results would have been…equally deleterious. If you wished to speak with me, why did you not send a message?”

  “Because,” said Caina, “I need to speak to you without anyone overhearing. Sending a message would rather defeat the point.”

  “Very well,” said Talekhris. “Enter.”

  Caina followed the Sage into his rooms.

  The chamber beyond looked like a bizarre mixture of a workshop, a library, and a museum. Wooden shelves sagged beneath the weight of books and scrolls in a variety of languages. Glass display cases held daggers, bowls, rings, and amulets, and Caina felt the sorcerous power within them. A variety of tools, glass jars, and peculiar metal instruments stood on long wooden tables, and metal shavings and sawdust gritted beneath her boots.

  Talekhris had been chasing the Moroaica for centuries…and in all that time, Caina doubted his rooms had been cleaned even once.

  “What do you wish of me?” said Talekhris.

  “Assistance,” said Caina.

  “Elaborate,” said Talekhris, his eyes distant. “Have you found proof that Mihaela used necromancy to create the glypharmor?”

  “Not yet,” said Caina, “but I know where to find it. Mihaela built the glypharmor with red steel from Nhabatan. She bought that steel from Khaltep Irzaris, a merchant of this city. So our plan is to get Irzaris and force him to talk.”

  “How?” said Talekhris.

  “By kidnapping him from his mansion and…persuading him,” said Caina.

  “That is a bold plan,” said Talekhris. “He will be well-guarded.”

  Caina shrugged. “It is our only option. Taking him in the Tower of Study would earn the ire of the Scholae. Attack him in the street, and we might draw the attention of the Redhelms. Kidnapping him from his mansion is the best option.”

  “And what is it that you need from me?” said Talekhris.

  “Any Sage can command the Redhelms?” said Caina. “Is that correct?”

  “It is,” said Talekhris. “Few bother. Zalandris usually oversees the Redhelms, since it is the Speaker’s role to deal with the outside world.”

  “Then,” said Caina, “I need you to order the Redhelms to stay away from Irzaris’s mansion tomorrow night. No matter what happens, no matter what reports they receive, they need to stay away from Irzaris’s house.”

  “And you think,” said Talekhris, “that Khaltep Irzaris will have proof Mihaela used necromancy to forge the glypharmor?”

  “No,” said Caina. “At least, he won’t have all the information we need. He’s…one more link in the chain. And if we follow that chain long enough, we’ll find what we seek.”

  “A sound plan,” said Talekhris. “Very well. I shall speak with the commander of the Redhelms, and bid him to ignore anything…unusual happening at the house of Khaltep Irzaris.”

  “Thank you,” said Caina. “One other question. Apparently Mihaela took a slave named Ardasha as a student.”

  “I recall that,” said Talekhris. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if thinking. “Yes. It was a few months before I left Catekharon to…to find you, as it happens.”

  “Do you know what happened to her?” said Caina.

  Talekhris shrugged. “I fear not. I take no Seekers of my own, and pay little attention to their doings. She was here when I left…and I assume she is now gone?”

  “Apparently Mihaela promised her freedom,” said Caina, “but Ardasha has not been seen for months. Her brother is desperate to find her.”

  “I will make inquiries,” said Talekhris. “Though I suspect Ardasha learned just enough spells to suit her and then fled. Such things have happened before when a slave becomes a student of a Seeker.”

  “Her brother seems certain,” said Caina.

  A smile flickered over Talekhris’s face. “I am sure he does. Love often blinds us to truths we find…unpalatable.”

  Caina thought of Corvalis and Claudia.

  “And a question for you, Ghost,” said Talekhris.

  “I will answer it,” said Caina, “if I can.”

  He picked up a cane from a table and leaned upon it. “The Moroaica. Since we last spoke, has she…appeared in your dreams at all?”

  “No,” said Caina.

  “And you do not see her in the waking world?” said Talekhris. “Like a vision or a hallucination that only you can see
?”

  “No,” said Caina.

  Talekhris sighed. “Has she ever arranged to have you killed? She has many disciples, and if she can appear in your dreams, she can also communicate to them through their dreams. Surely she must know that if you are slain, she is free to claim a body that she can control.”

  “No,” said Caina. “Sicarion wanted to kill me to free her, but she forbade him from doing it.”

  “Why?” said Talekhris, half to himself. “Why not kill you?”

  Caina hesitated. “She…thinks she can recruit me, given enough time. That once I understand her grand design, that I will aid her willingly, even enthusiastically.”

  “Would you?” said Talekhris.

  “Of course not,” said Caina. “I have seen the carnage and the horror she has wrought. And I doubt she has any grand design. Only a desire for power and the destruction of her enemies.”

  Yet Caina was no longer so sure, not after the vision she had seen of Jadriga as a girl. Perhaps Jadriga was wandering through the centuries taking revenge on anyone who reminded her of the men who had slain her father. But perhaps she did have some greater plan, some vision to reshape the world.

  But what?

  Talekhris grunted. “That is only a half-truth. She never does anything for a single reason. Always there is a larger goal. But what? Why would she want to come to Catekharon wearing your body?”

  “Do you think she arranged all this?” said Caina. “The glypharmor and Zalandris’s invitation? She couldn’t have possibly known I would come to Catekharon.”

  Yet she did not believe her own words. Coincidences were only the signs of an underlying pattern she could not yet see.

  “I am unsure,” said Talekhris. “Perhaps she simply wishes to recruit you. If she fails, the decades of your life are only a short time to one who has lived millennia.” He gazed at a table, eyes distant. “And yet…I wish you long life and health, Ghost. For the longer you live, the longer the Moroaica is trapped.”

  “You can help guarantee my health and long life,” said Caina, “by making sure the Redhelms stay away from Irzaris’s mansion tomorrow night.”

  She left without another word.

  ###

  Caina returned to the Hall of Assembly and rejoined the others.

  “Ah, daughter,” said Halfdan. “Did you find the slave with the bread?”

  “No, Father,” said Caina. “I fear he quite eluded me.”

  “Pity,” said Halfdan. “Well, we shall eat soon enough. Master Khaltep has generously invited me to dinner at his mansion tomorrow evening to discuss matters of business. I may bring one companion with me, and since I am a grim widower, I suppose one of my lovely daughters shall have to accompany me.”

  “Master Khaltep,” said Corvalis, standing at Halfdan’s side, “strongly hinted that he would very much like Claudia to see his collection of Anshani tapestries.”

  Claudia sniffed. “I do not enjoy the thought of enduring that…that preening huckster’s ungracious attentions.” She sighed and squared her shoulders. “Still, Father, if it will assist your…business efforts, I suppose I can survive one evening.”

  “Thank you, daughter,” said Halfdan with grave dignity, though Caina saw the amused twinkle in his eye.

  “I am affronted,” said Caina, hiding her smile. “One daughter, and not two? Am I so fat and ugly that I failed to catch his eye?”

  “At least you wouldn’t have to endure his attempts at wit,” said Claudia. “I suppose you can take consolation from that.”

  “And,” said Corvalis, “from other places.”

  He winked, and Caina did her very best not to laugh.

  Chapter 17 - Grinning Scars

  That night Caina stood in her shift in Claudia’s room.

  “Please,” she mumbled around the pins in her teeth, “hold still. I don’t want to draw blood.”

  Claudia sighed and shifted on her stool. “I dislike the idea of being dangled as…as bait. I might as well dress up like an Istarish harem girl and parade myself in front of him.”

  Caina, who had done that once, said, “It would be better if you stayed fully dressed.” She plucked a pin from her teeth and adjusted Claudia’s hair. “There. That’s better.”

  Claudia peered in the mirror. “It…does look better, doesn’t it?” She raised a tentative hand to her hair. “I never thought of wearing it that way, I admit.”

  Claudia knew virtually nothing about cosmetics, and had planned to wear the same gown from last night to Irzaris’s mansion. She had grown up as an initiate of the Magisterium, and had spent her time studying the use and history of sorcery. Details such as the use of cosmetics and the finer points of dressing had eluded her education.

  So Caina had volunteered.

  “How do you know all this?” said Claudia as Caina finished her hair. “I thought you would know about knives and daggers and poisons, not…well, not this sort of thing.”

  “Who says I can’t know both?” said Caina. “Theodosia taught me when I was younger. The Ghosts are spies, Claudia, and we are most effective when we do not draw attention to ourselves. And that means knowing how to dress appropriately, whether at a noble’s ball or at a dockside tavern.”

  “That makes sense,” said Claudia. “Still, I do not like using myself as bait. I am a magus of the Magisterium, not…”

  “You’re not,” said Caina, her voice sharper than she intended. “Not any longer.” She forced her tone back to calm. “You’re a Ghost now, and that means doing what is necessary.”

  Claudia swallowed. “As you say. Well, let’s get on with it.”

  Caina helped Claudia into her gown, a pale green dress that left her shoulders and a portion of her chest bare.

  “Isn’t that,” said Claudia, “rather, ah, low in the front?”

  “That’s the point,” said Caina, reaching for the cosmetics. “You’re going to distract him while Corvalis and I do other things. And to distract him, you need to look distracting.”

  “I cannot comprehend how the man can be attracted to me,” said Claudia, “when I so obviously despise him.”

  “I suspect he does not care what you think of him,” said Caina.

  She arranged Claudia’s jewelry and applied the cosmetics as Theodosia had taught her, reddening Claudia’s lips and cheeks, lining her green eyes with the faintest hint of black. When she finished, Caina stepped back to admire her handiwork. Claudia was a beautiful woman, and with the addition of a proper gown and makeup, she looked almost radiant.

  “Yes,” said Caina, “I think you’ll distract Irzaris.”

  “I do look nice, don’t I?” said Claudia, peering into the mirror. “Thank you.”

  Caina inclined her head. “Just don’t let Irzaris get you alone.”

  “Oh, gods, no,” said Claudia. “I doubt Basil will let it happen.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never looked this good…and I have to waste it on someone like Irzaris. His Anshani tapestries, indeed! I’ve never heard such a clumsy euphemism.”

  Caina laughed, and Claudia looked at her with surprise. Then she, too, laughed.

  “I admit,” said Caina, “I’ve never heard anyone call it an Anshani tapestry.”

  “Not that I would know,” said Claudia. She gestured at herself. “Or how to seduce a man, for that matter.” Her face got a touch redder behind the makeup. “I’ve never, well…”

  Caina nodded. “I understand.”

  “Um,” said Claudia. “You and Corvalis. Have you…”

  Caina could not decide whether to laugh or take offense at the question.

  “We have,” said Caina.

  “Oh,” said Claudia. “If you get with child, will you leave the Ghosts?”

  “I can’t,” said Caina, feeling the familiar sadness. She hesitated, and then decided to tell Claudia the truth. “You may have noticed I…do not care for the magi very much. When I was a child, they murdered my father and left me unable to bear a child.”

  “Oh!”
Claudia’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, I had no idea. I’m sorry.” She hesitated, and then touched Caina’s shoulder. “I suppose…I thought…well, I am sorry. I see why you don’t like me very much.”

  “I think,” said Caina, “I viewed you through the lens of my past experiences, not yours. I should not have done that.”

  “Well, I am glad to have met you,” said Claudia. “And not just because you saved my life. You…make Corvalis happy. He’s never been happy for...if he’s told you anything about his past, you know why.”

  Caina nodded. “He makes me happy, too.” She took a deep breath. “We’d best get moving. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Claudia nodded, and Caina went to get dressed.

  ###

  An hour later Caina stood with Corvalis in the shadows and looked at the mansion of Khaltep Irzaris.

  The mansion stood in Catekharon’s richer western district, away from the gates and the noise of the main streets, surrounded by the homes of other wealthy merchants. Irzaris might have been born Catekhari, but he had built his mansion in the Anshani style. It stood four floors high, faced in gleaming white stone, its façade an arcade of slender columns with delicate columns. According to Annika, the house followed the design of most Anshani mansions and had been built around a central courtyard with a garden and a fountain.

  “It seems,” muttered Corvalis, “that selling red iron to a Seeker pays quite well.” He wore chain mail and leather, a heavy shield slung over his back, sword and dagger ready at his belt.

  “Aye,” said Caina. Like Corvalis, she wore leather and chain mail, though the unaccustomed weight of the mail made her shoulders ache. Still, the others wore mail, and it would look odd if she did not. “And gods know into what other pies he has thrust his sticky fingers.”

  “But,” said Annika, “we shall find out tonight.” The Szaldic woman leaned upon her cane, draped in a heavy cloak.

  Caina stood with Corvalis, Annika, Saddiq, and a dozen of Saddiq’s men in the alley across the street from Irzaris’s mansion, hidden in the shadows. Saddiq’s men had shed their desert robes and wore chain mail and leather, weapons bristling from their belts and harnesses. Without their robes, they looked like any other group of hardened mercenaries.