Ghost in the Blood (The Ghosts)

by Moeller, Jonathan

  “When do you think they’ll be back?” said a thin-faced man with a sour expression. Caina recognized Rhicon’s voice.

  “Tomorrow night,” said the second man with the look and accent of a Anshani sailor. “Don’t ask stupid questions. You know His Lordship’s orders.” The sailor slapped his cards on the table. “Pay up.”

  Rhicon spat a curse and shoved some coins at the sailor. “I know they’re coming tomorrow night, you idiot. But when tomorrow night?”

  “Soon as possible,” said the sailor. “His Lordship is coming to inspect the slaves personally. He’ll want to deliver them to those noble witches as soon as possible.”

  “What’d you think they do with all those slaves?” said Rhicon.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” said the sailor. “So long as I get paid, of course.” He muttered something in Anshani. “It’s better not to know, believe me. The occultists back in Anshan…they’d just as soon peel the skin off you as look at you. And those noble witches and their Szaldic teacher are worse.”

  “Bah,” said Rhicon. “Customers are always unpleasant, sorcery or not. I just wish Tigrane would get back sooner. Can’t be too careful.”

  The sailor laughed. “You worry like an old woman. We’ve been doing this for years, and no one’s noticed. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Caina grinned behind her mask. They would find out tomorrow night.

  She glided back down the stairs, into the cellar, and climbed up to the garden. Her mind worked as she moved from shadow to shadow. Approaching the house from the street would be easy enough. If they gathered enough men from Ducas’s cohort, they could overwhelm the slavers and seize the house in one strong rush. But the river presented a problem. If Icaraeus realized what was happening, he would flee to the river. If he moved fast enough, he could get away.

  They needed more men.

  And after a moment’s thought, Caina knew just where to get them.

  ###

  The Ninth Cohort of the Twentieth Legion patrolled the city’s wealthier district, operating out of a barracks not far from Messana Heliorus’s estate. All Legion barracks in the Empire were built to a common plan, with the Tribune’s quarters upon the top floor.

  So Caina knew exactly where to break in.

  The room had minimal comforts, as she expected of Hiram Palaegus. A desk, a chair, a rack for arms and armor, and a bed were the only furniture. Hiram lay upon the bed, snoring. Caina knelt besides him, reached under the pillow, and removed the dagger that lay there.

  Then she clapped a gloved hand over Hiram’s mouth and laid her dagger at his throat.

  Hiram awoke at once. He started to struggle, then felt the steel at his throat and went still.

  “Remain calm,” rasped Caina, disguising her voice. “I wish only to speak.”

  She removed her hand from his mouth and stepped back.

  “You,” said Hiram, sitting up. He wore only his tunic, his arms and legs thick with muscle and old scars. “Have you learned anything more?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “We have an opportunity to capture Lord Icaraeus. We require your help.”

  “You shall have it,” said Hiram. He rose and crossed to his sword. “Where is he?”

  Caina raised a hand. “You must do exactly as I say. If we act too soon, or rashly, he will escape.”

  Hiram nodded. “I swear to you, by the blood of my murdered brother, that I will do as you command.”

  “Very well,” said Caina. “Naelon Icaraeus is expecting to take delivery of captured slaves. However, we arranged to disrupt the slave raid, and captured and killed all his of men. Icaraeus doesn’t know this, and will await his men tomorrow night.”

  “Where you will capture him,” said Hiram, hands curling into fists. “And at last find proof to bring Agria to justice.”

  “We may not find proof that Agria murdered Lord Martin and Lydia, as you believe,” said Caina. “But we shall certainly find proof that she has engaged in slave trading and business dealings with a traitor to the Empire. Both crimes carry the death sentence.”

  “Where will Icaraeus wait for his men?” said Hiram.

  “At a mansion Agria owns, on the edge of the dock district,” said Caina. “It overlooks the river.”

  “I know the place,” said Hiram. He scowled. “A good place for a villain to hide. It has a commanding view, and should Icaraeus see you coming, he might flee to the river.”

  “Which is why we need your help,” said Caina. “We have men who will attack the mansion from the street. But if Icaraeus escapes, as you said, he might make it to the river. If he’s a strong enough swimmer, or if he has a boat waiting, he could get away. And we might never again have such a good opportunity to capture him.”

  “Boats,” said Hiram. “You want me to put my men into boats and watch the river.”

  “Yes,” said Caina.

  Hiram began to pace. “I can contrive some excuse. Yes. I will tell the Legate that I suspect smugglers will try to enter the harbor from the river.”

  “Your men will need to be disguised,” said Caina. “If Icaraeus sees a half-dozen boats full of soldiers drifting past his mansion, he will realize something is amiss.”

  “My men can disguise themselves,” said Hiram. “And we will commandeer a few fishing boats.”

  “Good,” said Caina. “Make sure your men have quarterstaffs, or some other weapon not made from steel. Icaraeus and his men bear enspelled bracers that have the power to turn aside any steel weapon. Gifts from Jadriga, no doubt.”

  “And if I am the one to capture him?” said Hiram.

  “Do your best to take him alive,” said Caina. “We’ll have an easier time dealing with Lady Palaegus and her friends if Icaraeus is alive to talk. Though we won’t be very upset if you do have to kill him. Also, don’t touch or try to remove his bracers. We don’t know the full extent of the sorcery laid upon them.”

  “I understand,” said Hiram. “When should we be in place?”

  “After sundown,” said Caina. “We’ll strike as soon as Icaraeus arrives.”

  “Good,” said Hiram. “I look forward to it.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “So do I.”

  ###

  Caina got back to the warehouse just before dawn. Tigrane would live to see another day after all. She pounded on the door in the specific pattern Halfdan had given her.

  Nothing happened.

  Caina frowned, started knocking again, and the door wrenched open.

  “Ark?” said Caina. His face was drawn, his eyes wild. “What happened? Tigrane didn’t escape, did he?”

  Ark took a deep breath. “Not…quite. You’d better look.”

  Caina stepped into the warehouse. The first thing she noticed was the smell, something like dust and mildew and wet mud. Halfdan stood gazing at Tigrane, while Radast sat besides Jiri, his arm around her shoulders. Caina walked around Ark, looking at Tigrane.

  And stopped in her tracks, stunned.

  What was left of Tigrane sat slumped in the chair. He looked like a centuries-old corpse, dry and brittle, skin clinging to yellowed bones. Patches of his skin looked burned, and his clothes had withered to rags.

  His only intact garments were the rune-carved bracers, gleaming on his withered forearms.

  “What happened?” said Caina.

  “I don’t know,” said Halfdan. Even he sounded shaken. “An hour or so after you left, he started complaining that he didn’t feel well. Then he began screaming.”

  “He aged before our very eyes,” said Ark.

  “About four years, three months, and nineteen days a second, I estimate,” muttered Radast.

  “He kept screaming, and after a minute or so…that was all that was left,” said Halfdan.

  “The bracers,” said Radast. “I calculate an eighty-four percent chance the bracers had something to do with it.”

  “How about a hundred percent chance?” said Caina. She crossed to the withered corpse and pulled away
the ruined shirt. The wound from her silvered dagger still marked his shoulder.

  Except that it had spread to cover his chest and stomach.

  “I think I know what happened,” said Caina. “Those bracers. They must draw their power from…the life force of the wearer, his soul. Except ghostsilver damages the protective spell, so the bracers try to draw more power to ward away the damage…”

  “And the bracers sucked the life right out of him,” said Halfdan.

  Ark muttered a vicious curse. “Tanya told me that the Solmonari used to say that the gifts of a necromancer were always poisoned.”

  “The Solmonari were right about something,” said Caina. “And I’ll wager that neither Jadriga nor Icaraeus mentioned this possibility to their men.”

  Ark shook his head. “I wanted to kill him, badly. But, gods, that was an ugly way to die.”

  “Don’t touch the bracers,” said Jiri.

  Caina erupted with a half-hysterical laugh. “I should say so.”

  “What did you find?” said Halfdan. “Was he telling the truth?”

  “He was,” said Caina. “The mansion is guarded, and I overheard the guards saying that Icaraeus will arrive tomorrow night. We’ve got our chance.” She hesitated. “I spoke with Hiram Palaegus, as well. His troops will secure the river. I don’t think Ducas can bring enough men to cover both the street and the river.”

  “He can’t,” said Halfdan. “I was thinking on how to obtain the men. Well done. Tomorrow night, then. We’ll have our chance.”

  Ark’s sword hand closed into a fist. “And Icaraeus will pay for what he’s done.”

  Caina hoped so. Though she didn’t know what would happen if Agria or Jadriga chose to use their powers in the fight. Somehow she doubted they would come to Icaraeus’s aid. She suspected that Agria and Jadriga both viewed Icaraeus as a bothersome necessity, a tool to be used until they no longer needed him. They would not lift a finger to save him, if it came to that.

  But if they viewed Icaraeus’s downfall as a threat, then they would act. And Caina had no idea how to stop a sorceress of Jadriga’s power.

  “I’m getting some sleep,” said Caina. “It’s been a busy night. And tomorrow’s going to be even busier.”

  “You’re right,” said Halfdan. “We’re going to meet Ducas at the Dead Fish Inn tomorrow. His men will capture any slavers lingering around the place. And then we’ll move together to the mansion.”

  Jiri shuddered. “How can you sleep with that…thing in here?”

  Caina shrugged. “Don’t look at it.” She scooped up a spare blanket and dumped it over Tigrane’s withered shell. “Problem solved.”

  She lay down upon a cot, rolled into a blanket, and fell asleep.

  ###

  The nightmares came again, sharp and vivid. Her mother screamed until she withered into a desiccated corpse, dried lips drawn back from gleaming teeth. Again Caina fled terrified through a silent maze. Again Caina saw her father die, blood pouring from his throat upon a slab of black stone.

  But that wasn’t how her father had died. She had last seen him sitting glassy-eyed in his library chair, his mind destroyed by her mother’s sorcery.

  The girl in the gray dress watched her, the silver comb glittering in her dark hair. Terror filled her expression.

  “Why are you afraid?” said Caina.

  The girl shook her head and put her hand upon Caina’s.

  The child had no fear for herself.

  She was afraid for Caina.

  Chapter 18 - The Trap

  Caina awoke a few hours before sunset, groggy and irritable. After an hour spent practicing her unarmed forms, and a quick breakfast (or supper, given the hour), she felt much better.

  She was ready.

  “Are you prepared?” said Halfdan, adjusting his own mask and cloak.

  Ark nodded, lifted the whetstone from his sword, and slammed the blade into its scabbard. He slung his shield over his shoulder, and picked up a quarterstaff. “They say that retribution always finds you in the end, however delayed. Well, there will be no more delays for Icaraeus, not after tonight.”

  Caina nodded and checked her weapons one last time.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Halfdan, voice jocular, eyes deadly serious. “Let’s go.”

  ###

  By the time they reached the docks, Ducas’s men had quietly taken over all the houses surrounding Icaraeus’s mansion. The Legionaries had overwhelmed the previous tenants easily, holding them under guard until dawn. They found six of Icaraeus’s men watching the street from the crumbling mansions, crossbows ready. The mercenaries had been overpowered and disarmed, and joined the rest of the prisoners.

  Caina, Halfdan, Ark, and Radast joined Ducas and a pair of centurions on the second floor of the house nearest Icaraeus’s hideout. Radast crossed to the window and began setting up his crossbow, scrawling calculations onto the wall with a piece of chalk. Caina had to admit that Ducas cut a striking figure in his gleaming armor and crimson cloak.

  “Are we ready?” said Halfdan.

  “I’m going to do well out of this,” said Ducas. “My own Legion command. Maybe even an Imperial magistracy. I hear the Pale needs a new Lord Governor.”

  Halfdan made an annoyed sound. “And none of that will happen if Icaraeus gets away.”

  Ducas grinned. “He hasn’t shown up yet. My men have been watching the house ever since we moved into position. No one has come or gone.”

  “Possibly because you scared him off,” said Halfdan.

  Ducas shook his head. “No. My men captured all of Icaraeus’s watchers. The mercenaries in the mansion haven’t seen a thing.”

  Caina glanced out the window. She saw fishing boats floating down the river, almost at random. Hiram’s men. Everyone was in position. The trap was set.

  Now they need only wait for Icaraeus.

  “How many men did you bring?” said Ark.

  “One hundred and fifty,” said Ducas. “Any more and the Legate would have started asking questions. I…”

  “Quiet,” said Caina.

  She heard the drumming of hooves and the rattle of wagon wheels. A fine coach rolled down the street, followed by four wagons, each loaded with armed men. Caina saw the rune-carved bracers upon their forearms. The coach and the wagons halted before the mansion, the mercenaries swinging down to the street, the coach’s door opening.

  Lord Naelon Icaraeus exited the coach and strode towards the mansion, hand resting on his sword hilt. He wore expensive clothes, a rich cloak, and no armor. The mercenaries followed him, a few men remaining to guard the wagons.

  At last, at long last, he was within their reach.

  “Now?” said Ducas, voice eager.

  “Not yet,” said Halfdan. “They’re too close to the wagons. Some might get away.”

  “You,” said Ducas, pointing at one of the centurions. “Find Rilnus’s squad. His orders have changed. Tell him to secure the wagons and that coach.”

  The centurion banged an armored fist against his breastplate and hurried away. Caina watched the mercenaries file into the abandoned mansion. No doubt they were impatient for Tigrane to arrive.

  Halfdan stared at the mansion for another few moments, and then nodded. “Now.”

  Radast came to one knee. He held an intricate crossbow of Strigosti design, one that could hold two bolts drawn at once. He squeezed the first trigger, the weapon shuddering, and a ghostsilver-tipped bolt sprouted from one of the mercenaries. The man fell against the coach without a sound, smoke rising from his throat. Radast wheeled and squeezed the second trigger, and another mercenary fell dead, again without a sound.

  “Go!” said Ducas.

  The remaining centurion crossed to the window. “Attack, in the name of the Emperor!” he bellowed, his voice booming like a trumpet blast. “Take the mansion. Take the traitor alive. Kill the rest of them!”

  With an answering roar, the Legionaries poured from the surrounding houses, armor rattling, q
uarterstaffs ready. Caina saw the guards atop the mansion’s roof whirl in shocked alarm, saw the mercenaries in the garden start running for the house.

  “Come on,” said Caina. She raced down the stairs, Ark following. They had their own task.

  Capture Icaraeus. Dead or alive, but preferably alive.

  The sounds of battle filled her ears as she came to the street. Two of the Legionaries lay dead, crossbow bolts jutting from their armor. The rest stormed through the gate and into the garden, a vicious melee swirling before the mansion. The mercenaries, equipped with swords and daggers, were better armed. But Legionaries were better armored, and the mercenaries’ enspelled bracers offered no protection from the heavy blow of a wooden quarterstaff.

  Caina vaulted over the garden wall, and Ark landed besides her.

  “Which way?” hissed Ark.

  “Follow me,” said Caina. “The window I told you about.”

  Keeping low, she and Ark circled around the melee, to the side of the house. Caina rolled through the broken window and dropped into the cellar, Ark following her. She beckoned him onward, ghostsilver dagger ready, and crept up the stairs. Ark moved with better stealth than most, but she still winced at the rasp of his boots against the boards, the creak of the stairs beneath his weight. Hopefully the sound of the battle would drown out any noise they made.

  She came into the house’s main hall. Icaraeus stood not twenty paces away, sword in hand. She saw the bracers upon his forearms, their runes flickering with sickly green light. Two of the mercenaries stood with him, weapons ready.

  They all had their backs to the cellar stairs. Caina gestured for Ark to remain still, reversed her grip on the ghostsilver dagger, and began to creep towards them.

  “Who are they?” said Icaraeus.

  “Legionaries, my lord,” said one the mercenaries.

  “The Legion?” snarled Icaraeus. “How the devil did they find…ah. Those Ghosts, those damnable Ghosts. I’ll have Tigrane’s head for this. Though they’ve probably killed him already.”