Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  A wild laugh burst from Caina’s lips. The sound of it frightened her, and she fought to get herself under control. “He was wrong. Badly. She’s not a charlatan. She’s got power, Ark. More than the Magisterium, I think. Maybe even more than Kalastus.”

  That set Ark aback. Kalastus had almost killed them both with his pyromancy, and a lot of other people besides.

  “That strong?” said Ark. “Do…you think she is the necromancer Nicorus mentioned?”

  “I don’t know,” said Caina. She thought about it. “Probably.” Something else occurred to her. “We’d better get going. Fast. Don’t spare the horses.”

  “Why not?” said Ark.

  “Think about it,” said Caina, stumbling out of the coach. “I don’t remember what we talked about, I can barely even remembering meeting her, but Jadriga looked into my mind. That means…”

  “That means she knows you’re a Ghost,” said Ark. “She might know everything.”

  “And if Icaraeus is working for her and Agria,” said Caina, “then he might try to kill us all. Tonight.”

  Ark nodded. “We’d better get moving.”

  Chapter 14 - Assassins

  “You’re an idiot,” said Ducas, pacing before the windows.

  “You’re right,” said Caina.

  She sat on a stool in Radast’s workshop. With its intricate locks and traps, Halfdan had decided that the workshop was a more defensible location, one that would not expose Zorgi and his staff to risk. Halfdan and Ark stood at a table, checking their weapons. Jiri worked in the hearth, cooking, while Radast muttered to himself and scribbled equations on the slates.

  Ducas blinked. “You agree with me?”

  “I made an error,” said Caina. “I shouldn’t have left myself alone with Jadriga.” She thought about it some more. “I’m fortunate to be alive.”

  “Tigrane and Icaraeus will probably call off the raid now,” said Ducas. “Which means we just lost our best chance to catch them.”

  Caina nodded.

  “What were you thinking?” said Ducas. “You knew Agria would try to invade your mind. Why didn’t you…”

  “Ducas,” said Halfdan, glancing up from a crossbow, “shut up. It could be worse.”

  “How?” said Ducas.

  “Jadriga clearly tried to wipe Anna’s memory of the conversation,” said Halfdan. “If she had, we’d have no warning whatsoever, and most likely we’d have been murdered in our sleep.”

  Caina hadn’t thought of that. It made her feel better, if only a little.

  “Tribune, you’ve been in the Legions long enough to know that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy,” said Ark.

  Ducas frowned. “Don’t quote the classics at me.”

  “And would you have done as well, if you had been confronted with a magus who could read your thoughts?” said Ark.

  Ducas spat something sulfurous, but he scowled and turned away.

  “I have some food,” said Jiri, straightening up from the hearth. “Stew, and bread.” She grinned at Halfdan. “Not quite the rich stuff you’re used to, Basil, but it will fill your belly well enough.”

  “My dear,” said Halfdan, “I’ll have you know I once went a fortnight without a bite to eat. Stew and bread shall be quite lovely, thank you.”

  “I’m going to sleep,” said Caina, sliding off the stool. She had changed to her nightfighter clothes, weapons at the ready. She would probably need them very soon. “It’s going to be a long couple of days, I think.”

  Ducas snorted and crossed to the stew.

  “Don’t let him upset you,” said Jiri to Caina, voice quiet.

  “He isn’t,” said Caina. “But he’s still right. I made a mistake.”

  “But if I came face to face with a magus…” Jiri shuddered. “You’re so calm. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  Caina grinned. “Easy enough. Stab until he stops moving.”

  Jiri laughed. “I like you. Sleep well, Anna.”

  There were cots and blankets in the corner. Caina lay down, wrapped herself in a blanket, and fell asleep.

  ###

  The dream was darker and stranger than ever, no doubt an aftereffect of Jadriga’s attack upon her mind.

  Caina found herself in her father’s library, shadows thick and tangled upon the walls. She was wearing her nightfighter clothes, weapons heavy in their sheaths. That was odd; she never wore her nightfighter clothes in these dreams. And she was lucid enough to notice these details. Usually she was caught in the grip of uncontrollable emotion.

  She turned, and saw her mother staring at her.

  Caina stepped back in alarm, yanking her daggers from their sheaths.

  Her mother did not move.

  She wore a strange black dress that crawled and writhed over her body like something alive. Her pale face lay half-hidden behind curtains of ragged, greasy hair. That alone caught Caina’s attention. Her mother had always been fastidious to the point of madness, and would fly into a rage if anyone saw her disheveled.

  She stepped closer, and Caina saw her eyes. They burned, blazing from within like hot coals. The hellish glow illuminated her face, exposing its gaunt lines, showing the mocking smile on her thin lips. Caina’s mother had alternated between icy indifference and furious rage, and she had never worn such a smile.

  Suddenly Caina wanted to run.

  “Who are you?” said Caina.

  “We…can see you now,” said her mother. Her voice was a harsh whisper, filled with a buzzing modulation. It made Caina’s ears hurt. “Yes. She touched you, soul-scarred child. And now we can see you, you who would defy us.”

  “Who are you?” repeated Caina. “Are you Jadriga?”

  “Shadow-marked child. We are legion. We have waited long,” said the shape of her mother. “So very long. Empires have risen and fallen, and cities have burned, yet still we have waited. But soon…we will wait no longer.” The mocking smile sharpened. “She thinks to become our master. But we are older than her. Older than the world. We shall have no master.”

  “You are not my mother,” said Caina.

  “No,” said her mother, the fires in her eyes blazing brighter. “We are not. But you will meet us soon enough. Shall we show you who we really are, defiant child? Shall you see us without guise, without artifice? The sight would shatter your mind and sear your soul. You would awake screaming and gibbering and drooling.” She paused. “Yes. We will show you.”

  She stepped forward, the strange black dress writhing, her eyes turning molten. Then she looked up, rage flashing across her face.

  The library vanished. Caina found herself standing in Radast’s workshop, the window shutters open, the night breeze blowing inside.

  The solemn girl in the gray dress waited for her, the silver comb glinting in her hair.

  “You,” said Caina. “I’ve…seen you before, haven’t I? In my nightmares. Who are you?”

  The girl said nothing. She kept staring, yet Caina felt no disquiet. There was no hint of the malevolence, the hatred she had sensed from whatever had worn her mother’s shape.

  “Is there something you want from me?” said Caina.

  The girl stepped forward, her small warm hand closing about Caina’s wrist. She guided Caina to the windows and pointed.

  Caina peered into the night. “What I am looking…”

  She saw it at once, and her breath hissed through her teeth.

  Something like a misshapen wolf waited in the street below. It stood on two legs, tongue lolling over yellowed fangs, and held a crooked sword in one paw. Another one lurked in a doorway across the square, and two more stood before the door to Radast’s building. Each creature wore spiked iron bracers on its forearms, the black metal marked with runes of ghostly emerald light.

  All four watched her with red eyes.

  “What are they?” said Caina.

  For the first time the barest hint of an expression touched the girl’s face.

  Fear. But not for herself.
She was afraid for Caina.

  “You’re warning me?” said Caina.

  The girl nodded, and touched Caina’s wrist again.

  The workshop dissolved into nothingness.

  ###

  Caina awoke with a gasp. She sat up, pushed the blanket away, and looked around. Radast’s workshop was dark, save for a pair of candles. Ark, Ducas, and Halfdan lay on cots nearby, sleeping. Radast sat in the candlelight, scribbling notes into a book.

  Caina hurried over to Radast. The dream remained lodged in her mind, and she half-expected to see red-eyed wolves lurking under the tables. Radast looked up as she approached.

  “Anna Callenius,” he said. “I calculate a ninety-seven percent chance you have experienced a nightmare.”

  “Yes,” said Caina thickly, looking at the shutters. If she opened them, would she see wolves prowling the street? Absurd. It had been a dream.

  Yet…

  “My calculations were right about you,” said Radast. “Despite what Ducas might say. You found the truth. Lady Palaegus and her teacher are behind the disappearances, that is plain.”

  “We don’t know everything yet,” said Caina, staring at the metal shutters. Jadriga, for one. Where had she come from? What did she want? “Not by a long shot. Radast, these shutters…is there a way to look through them without opening them?”

  “Of course,” said Radast, rising to his feet. He pressed a latch on the shutters and slid aside a small panel. Caina peered through the narrow opening.

  And froze in alarm.

  A man stood in the street, staring up at her. Another stood in the shadows of the doorway across the square, and two more stood before the door to Radast’s building. They stood in the exact position of wolves from her dream.

  And they all wore bracers identical to Icaraeus’s.

  “What is it?” said Radast.

  “Trouble,” said Caina.

  Even as she spoke, the nearest man’s eyes widened. In a single smooth motion, he produced a light crossbow from beneath his cloak and raised it.

  “Down!” shouted Caina, shoving Radast away from the window. A heartbeat later the quarrel bounced off the shutter with a loud clang.

  “Ha!” said Radast. “As if a crossbow could penetrate my work!”

  “What’s going on?” said Halfdan. He and the others had risen, and Jiri hurried out of the bedroom.

  “Icaraeus’s men,” said Caina. “They’ve found us.”

  Ducas glared at her. “Jadriga must have pulled the location from Anna’s mind.”

  Halfdan shoved past him, walking towards the shutter.

  “Careful,” said Caina. “The one in the street is a good shot.”

  Halfdan nodded, took a quick look, and snapped the panel shut. “Ten of them. Six were heading into the alley, towards the stairs.”

  Caina glanced at the massive steel door bolted to the brickwork.

  “They have a very low chance of getting through my door,” said Radast.

  Caina and Ark shared a look.

  “They don’t have to go through the door,” said Caina. “They’re going to set the building on fire, and kill us as we come down the stairs.”

  “Oh,” said Radast. He frowned. “I had not calculated that possibility.”

  “Too late now,” said Ducas.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” said Halfdan. “Radast, is the door the only way in and out of here?”

  “No,” said Jiri. “In the bedroom, there’s a trapdoor with a ladder to the roof.”

  “Good,” said Halfdan. “We’ll go from roof to roof, make our way to the docks. I have a safehouse there.”

  “A safehouse? You never told me about that,” said Ducas.

  “I’m a Ghost circlemaster,” said Halfdan. “I’m hardly going to share all my secrets with you.”

  “What if they have someone on the roof?” said Jiri, hugging herself.

  “Then we’ll just have to cut our way through,” said Ark.

  That would be a fine trick, if all of Icaraeus’s men had been equipped with those steel-warding bracers. Caina gave Jiri and Radast a dubious look. She doubted either of them would be much use in a straight fight. She hoped that Ducas really did know how to use that broadsword.

  “Enough talk,” said Halfdan. “Radast, Jiri, grab what weapons you can. Cover your faces, as well.” Radast nodded and grabbed a bundle from his table. The others pulled on improvised masks. “Let’s get moving before we burn to death. Arlann, you have your shield? Good. You’ll be first up the ladder.” Ark nodded and readied his battle-scarred shield on his left arm. Caina tugged her mask into place and pulled up her cowl. “Let’s move.”

  They crowded into the bedroom. A ladder rested against one wall, leading to a heavy steel trapdoor. Ark scaled the ladder, shield and sword ready. He unlocked the trapdoor, thrust it open, and sprang onto the roof, shield leading.

  Caina heard him grunt, heard steel bite into the shield.

  She scrambled up the ladder and leapt onto the roof. Ark faced off against a man wielding a dagger and a sword, bracers flickering with green light on his forearms. Caina stepped past Ark's attacker, arched her back, and plunged both her fists onto the back of his neck. The man stumbled, and Ark’s shield slammed into his face. Caina swept the swordsman’s legs out from under him, and his head cracked against the shingles.

  The bracers might ward steel, but they did little against fists and stout oak.

  Two more men ran at her and Ark, swords ready. Ark caught the blow upon his shield, staggering back towards the trapdoor. Caina dodged a thrust aimed at her head, the sword plunging past her shoulder. Her attacker overbalanced, and Caina’s hands darted out and seized his wrist.

  A harsh tingle shot up her arms as her gloved fingers brushed against the rune-scribed bracers.

  She twisted, and the sword fell from the man’s hand. He growled, swinging his free fist at her face. Caina twisted around him, pinned his arm behind him, planted a boot in his lower back, and shoved. He lurched away, stumbling a half-dozen steps to regain his balance.

  The last step took him right over the edge of the roof. He had time to scream, and then Caina heard the sickening crack of bone shattering against the street.

  Caina whirled, saw Ark send his opponent reeling back with a bash from his shield. Another blow, and the man crumpled, stunned. Ducas was already on the roof, and Halfdan scrambled up the ladder, followed by Radast and Jiri.

  “Here,” said Radast. He held a pair of oak rods. “Use these. The bracers can turn steel, but not wood.”

  “A stick?” said Ducas, snatching one. “You expect me to fight a swordsman with a damned stick?”

  “Shut up,” said Halfdan, helping himself to the other rod. He squinted at the street for a moment, then nodded. “This way. Go.”

  They ran, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. It reminded Caina of stalking Tigrane through the docks…but no one had been chasing her then. She saw Icaraeus’s mercenaries keeping pace below. Sooner or later the mercenaries would cut them off, or send a group to the rooftops.

  That was bad. Caina had no trouble running and jumping from rooftop to rooftop, and neither did Ark or Ducas. But Radast was falling behind, Jiri was starting to limp, and Halfdan’s breath was coming sharp and hard.

  Unless Caina did something clever soon, they were probably going to die.

  She saw the man with the crossbow lift his weapon.

  “Down!” Caina shouted, ducking. She dodged to the side, letting her cloak billow to present a larger target. The others ducked as well.

  All save for Jiri, who stumbled with a cry of pain, hand clutching her right hip.

  “Jiri!” shouted Radast, taking her arms as she sagged.

  “It’s not, it’s not bad,” said Jiri, eyes wide. “It only clipped me.” A lot of blood was coming from the wound, though, and her face had gone gray with pain.

  “Can you walk?” said Halfdan. “We have to keep moving.”

  “No,” said
Jiri with a tight shake of her head. “Go without me.”

  “I will not leave you here,” said Radast

  A pair of mercenaries emerged on the rooftop of a neighboring house, weapons in hand.

  “Too late,” she said.

  Ducas swore and gave his oaken rod a dubious look. More mercenaries filed onto the rooftop, swords ready. Eight of them, including the man with the crossbow.

  “We fight, then,” said Halfdan. “Get ready.”

  Caina watched them come, cursing herself. She should never have stayed alone with Jadriga. And Ducas was right. An oaken rod against a competent swordsman was not a winning tactic. Caina knew how to fight unarmed, but she could not possibly defeat an armed, skillful foe.

  Then the mercenaries rushed them, and Caina had no more time for thought. Two men came at her, driving her back towards the edge of the roof with vigorous blows of their swords. Caina parried with a dagger, dodging and weaving. She couldn’t keep this up forever, and the mercenaries knew it. Sooner or later one of them would score a hit, or she would lose her footing and plunge to her death.

  She saw Radast staring at her, his eyes bright with calculation. He knelt and rummaged through his bundle, looking for something. Then he stood, bright metal gleaming in his hand.

  “Take this!” he yelled. “It will balance the equation!”

  He threw the shining thing at her head.

  Caina caught it on instinct. Her hand closed around the hilt of a curved Kyracian dagger, the blade written with flowing characters. It shone in the moonlight, seeming to glow.

  Ghostsilver.

  The blade had been plated with ghostsilver. Ghostsilver was proof against certain kinds of arcane attack…

  Her eyes widened with the realization.

  The nearest mercenary thrust, and Caina sidestepped, moving inside his guard. He wore no armor. None of the mercenaries did. Why bother, after all, when their enspelled bracers would protect them from steel weapons? He wore no armor, and there was nothing to stop Caina from burying the ghostsilver dagger to the hilt in his throat.

  The wound drew no blood. Instead it smoked and charred, as if she had plunged a hot iron into his throat, and the hilt grew hot beneath her hand. The man staggered, mouth open in a silent scream. Caina yanked the curved dagger free and kicked out. Her enemy lost his balance and crashed into the second man. Caina spun around them and drove the dagger into the second man’s neck. Again the wound burned black with smoke, the dagger warming, and the man fell.