Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 09 - Ghost in the Surge

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You deceitful harlot,” said Aiodan with a sneer. “I haven’t come here to arrest you. I’ve come here to kill you.”

  Before she could react, he backhanded her. The speed of the blow caught her off guard, and Caina stumbled backward, her head bouncing off the wall.

  The guests and Legionaries stared up at them, aghast.

  “Die!” roared Aiodan. “In the name of the Emperor, die!”

  His hand locked around her throat and he slammed her against the wall, his fingers digging into her neck.

  Caina met his eyes, and she saw the enraged glee there.

  And in a single horrified instant, she knew.

  “And in the name of the Moroaica,” murmured Aiodan in a low voice, “for my deaths at Cyrioch, Caer Magia, and Mornu, die screaming.”

  Ranarius.

  His spirit had possessed Aiodan Maraeus.

  His other hand clamped around Caina’s throat, and her vision started to fade. She punched him in the stomach once, twice, three times, but he only grunted, and her vision darkened further. Desperate, Caina yanked the ghostsilver dagger from her belt and plunged it into his belly. Aiodan staggered, and Caina ripped the dagger free and drove it into his chest. The Lord Governor released Caina’s throat and stumbled back, the bloody dagger still clutched in Caina’s hand. He leaned against the railing, blood soaking his fine shirt.

  Then he grinned and winked at Caina.

  “She killed me!” he screamed. “Anna Callenius killed me! Avenge me! Avenge me!”

  And with that, he topped over the railing and landed hard upon one of the tables. It shattered beneath his weight, food and drink spraying over the guests.

  Silence fell over the common room of Zorgi’s Inn.

  A hundred pairs of horrified eyes stared up at her. Dozens of witnesses had just seen her murder Aiodan Maraeus, Lord Governor of Marsis and son of the most powerful lord in the Empire.

  This was bad.

  This was astonishingly bad.

  “Arrest her!” said one of the Legionaries. “She murdered the Lord Governor!”

  The Legionaries ran up the stairs.

  Caina whirled, ran into her room, and barred the door behind her. An instant later she heard the Legionaries hammering at the door. Caina raced across the room, grateful that her boots had flat heels. She reached into her trunk, seized her shadow-cloak, a coil of rope, and a few other useful items, stuffing them into a satchel. The door splintered beneath the Legionaries’ armored fists, and Caina ran to the window. She jabbed the grapnel into the jamb, threw the rope into the gardens below, and scrambled down the side of the inn.

  She raced through the twilight, jumping over the low wall surrounding the inn’s gardens and into the streets of Marsis. Already she heard the shouts rising from the inn, the panicked guests spilling into the gardens. Soon the Legion would descend upon the inn, and she hoped no blame would attach to Zorgi.

  A chill gripped Caina as the depths of Ranarius’s plan became clear. He could die as many times as he wanted, take as many bodies as he needed. Death no longer meant anything to him. He would die as many times as necessary to turn the Ghosts against her and to hunt her across the Empire.

  He was playing with her because he could.

  She had to find a way to kill him permanently.

  But first, she needed to stay alive and free long enough to do it.

  Caina ducked into an alley between two shops and concealed herself in a doorway. She ripped off her dress and quickly donned the clothes she had taken from the inn, the garb of a common, ragged mercenary guard. She wiped off her makeup with a few swipes of her cloak, grateful that she had not bothered to put on perfume. A caravan guard that smelled of perfume would draw attention.

  Already she heard the shouts of alarm from the streets, and Caina hurried down the alley. Soon the Legions would be called out, and men would go from street to street hunting for Anna Callenius.

  Caina had to find Halfdan and Corvalis before the Legions found her.

  Night fell, and she hurried towards the dockside district.

  ###

  Caina ducked into a doorway and slung her shadow-cloak over her shoulders. It settled around her like a living shadow, and she pulled up the cowl and waited.

  Hopefully it would be enough.

  A moment later a squad of ten Legionaries marched past, torches and swords in hand. She felt their eyes sweep over her hiding place, but the darkness and the shadow-cloak concealed her. The Legionaries kept marching, and soon disappeared down the narrow street.

  Caina took a deep breath and kept going.

  The response had come far quicker than she had expected. Squads of Legionaries fanned out through Marsis, seeking Anna and Basil Callenius. Anyone who knew Basil Callenius had been placed under arrest, along with anyone who could not adequately explain their reasons for visiting Marsis. A lone caravan guard running through the streets at night would be detained. Caina had to find refuge as soon as possible.

  Fortunately, the Ghosts had a safe house in the warehouses lining the docks.

  Or a new one, rather. Caina had burned down the old one during the battle of Marsis. The new safe house, like the old one, occupied a squat, ugly brick warehouse. Caina hesitated, but saw no one watching the warehouse door.

  She hurried to the entrance, unlocked the door, and let herself inside.

  The interior of the warehouse looked like a barracks, lit only by the dim light of a single lantern on a table. A row of cots stretched the length of the room, and tables and shelves held weapons, clothing, tools, food, and other supplies. Halfdan stood at the table as, his cap gone, a bandage on his forehead. He looked up as she entered, and he blinked in surprise.

  “There you are,” he said. “Why did you come back so quickly?”

  “Come back?” said Caina. “I just got here.”

  “What happened?” said Halfdan.

  “Ranarius’s spirit possessed Aiodan Maraeus and attacked me,” said Caina. “I wound up killing him, and everyone in Zorgi’s common room saw it.”

  “Yes, you already told me that,” said Halfdan. “You went to get Corvalis.”

  “What?” said Caina. “No, I just got here, I…”

  Why did Halfdan think that she had already been here? She hadn’t, unless…

  Unless someone had been impersonating her.

  Unless the death of Aiodan Maraeus had only been part of Ranarius’s plan.

  “Halfdan,” said Caina, “something’s wrong, something…”

  A figure moved in the shadows behind him, and Caina felt the buzzing tingle of sorcery against her skin.

  “Halfdan!” shouted Caina, reaching for her ghostsilver dagger. “Behind you! It…”

  Halfdan started to turn, and then a sword blade erupted from his chest. Blood spread across his furred robe, and he seized the edge of the table to keep his balance. His eyes met hers, full of pain and stunned confusion.

  Caina heard herself scream.

  “Caina,” croaked Halfdan. “Why? I…”

  The sword blade ripped free of his chest, and Halfdan fell lifeless to the ground.

  And Caina found herself looking at an exact duplicate of herself.

  The duplicate wore a rich blue gown, her hair arranged in an intricate crown, jewels glittering on her fingers and ears. Makeup reddened her lips and lined her eyes, and a mocking smirk twisted her mouth. A sword rested in her right hand, smeared with Halfdan’s blood, and a serrated dagger in her left.

  Caina had seen that dagger before, and she felt the sorcery radiating from her duplicate.

  “You,” she hissed.

  “Ah,” said the duplicate with a wide grin. “So you do remember me? Clever, clever. I might have fooled all your friends, but I can’t fool you.”

  The duplicate rubbed her left hand over her face. A golden mask appeared over her features, its expression calm and serene. She pulled away the mask, and her body flowed and melted, becoming a short man in dark leather armor, a ho
oded black cloak hanging from his shoulders. His face was a hideous patchwork of scars, as if his head had been sown together from pieces of old leather, his left eye a ghostly blue, his right a venomous yellow-orange.

  Sicarion.

  “Rhames’ mask,” said Sicarion, tucking the mask into a pouch at his belt, though his mismatched eyes never left her face. “Such a useful little tool for disguise, isn’t it? Why, the old fool though that I was you, right up to the last instant of his life. He thought you were the impostor.”

  Caina said nothing, her arms trembling.

  “You’re not going to live through this,” said Sicarion, “but if you did, and you returned to Malarae…I think you would find that the Ghosts view you somewhat differently now.” He clucked his tongue. “Someone wearing your face carved quite a bloody path through the Ghosts of the capital. So tragic, so sad, that someone so respected as you could fall so far.” He grinned, his yellowed teeth like a row of old bones in his jaw. “It will please me to kill you at last. Partly for the pleasure it will bring, true, but mostly because it will discomfort Ranarius that I got…”

  Caina screamed in fury and threw herself at him, ghostsilver blade in her right hand, another dagger in her left.

  Her attack caught him off guard, and Sicarion stumbled back with a hissed curse, blades raised in guard. Caina jumped over Halfdan’s corpse and slashed, her ghostsilver dagger opening a gash in the scarred leather of Sicarion’s face. Her left dagger bit into his hip, and he stumbled. Sicarion retreated, and Caina landed hit after minor hit. She heard someone screaming in rage, and realized it was her. Fury unlike anything she had ever known drove her, and her world narrowed to Sicarion.

  She was going to kill him for what he had done.

  For killing…

  She drove her left dagger to its hilt in Sicarion’s right shoulder. The scarred assassin jumped back with a bellow of fury and pain, and Caina charged after him, ghostsilver dagger raised for the kill.

  Sicarion flung out a hand, green fire pulsing from his fingers, and invisible force erupted from him. The psychokinetic burst flung her across the room and into the shelves next to the table. The wood snapped and cracked beneath the impact, weapons falling and clattering against the floor. The table shuddered as her boots slammed into it, and the ghostsilver dagger tumbled from her grasp.

  “That’s enough,” said Sicarion with a growl. He hobbled towards her, rubbing his wounded hip. “You have escaped me too many times. And you’ve cut me up.” He laughed, his rusty voice full of amusement. “You’re young and strong. Maybe I’ll cut some replacement parts from you.”

  Caina seized a clay bottle from the shelf and flung it at him. Sicarion’s blade flicked up in a lazy parry, and the bottle shattered, the fluid within spraying over him.

  “Perhaps that is how I will tell the mistress you are dead at last,” said Sicarion. “When I report to her with pieces of your face grafted to mine. I…”

  Caina seized the lantern and threw it at him. Again he raised his sword in parry, and the lantern shattered against the weapon.

  And Sicarion burst into flames as the lamp oil soaking his clothes ignited, his gloating ending in an enraged scream of pain. The spell holding Caina wavered and vanished as his concentration broke, and she charged at him, snatching up the ghostsilver dagger.

  But the burning assassin flung out his hand, and another blast of force knocked Caina to the floor. She scrambled back to her feet, but Sicarion had already fled out the back door. Yet she knew that he would be back. He would murder some more innocent victims, use their stolen body parts to repair himself, and come back to kill Caina.

  Just as he had killed Halfdan.

  She looked at the corpse of her circlemaster, and the anger drained from her, replaced by horrible, crushing grief.

  A moment later she was on her knees next to Halfdan, weeping. She had known he could die in the course of his duties to the Ghosts. Any one of them could. But she had never thought he would die like this, stabbed in the back by Sicarion.

  Killed because Sicarion had been trying to get at her.

  He should have listened. She should have gone off by herself, drawing Sicarion and Ranarius away. This was her fault…

  A sob went through her, her shoulders shuddering.

  Enough. Enough! The best way to honor Halfdan’s memory was to keep going, to stop his killers from destroying the Empire.

  Caina took a deep breath, rubbed the tears from her eyes, and got to work.

  ###

  She stepped into the street as the warehouse went up in flames behind her.

  A dark man in a shadow-cloak moved toward her, and Caina spun, ghostsilver dagger in her right hand, a throwing knife in her left. The man approaching her carried a sword and dagger at his belt, the wrapped shape of a spear strapped to his back.

  “Caina?” The man drew back his cowl and mask, revealing Corvalis’s face. Relief flooded through Caina, and she wanted to run to him, bury her face in his shoulder, and weep. Instead she remained motionless. “What happened? Where…”

  “The first night you kissed me,” said Caina. “Where was it?” No one else had been there. No one else could know.

  Corvalis frowned. “What…”

  “Tell me!” said Caina.

  “The Inn of the Defender, in Cyrioch, after we killed Ranarius,” said Corvalis.

  She lowered her weapons and ran to him.

  “What the hell happened?” said Corvalis. “Halfdan sent me to talk to Maltaer, and half the city was in an uproar by the time I left the ship.”

  “Ranarius possessed Aiodan Maraeus and came to kill me,” said Caina, “and I killed him instead. In front of a hundred witnesses.”

  “Oh,” said Corvalis. “That’s very bad.”

  Caina nodded.

  “Where’s Halfdan?” said Corvalis, looking at the burning warehouse. “He needs to know this.”

  “He’s…” The words stuck in her throat. “He’s…”

  The sentence turned into a sob, and she hated herself for it. She was a Ghost nightfighter, not the crying child she had once been. But the pain ripped through her like a blade.

  “Oh,” said Corvalis. His hands closed around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. Ranarius?”

  “No. Sicarion,” whispered Caina. “He has Rhames’ mask, the one that let him appear as anyone he chose. He used it to appear as me. Halfdan trusted him, and then he stabbed him in the back.”

  “Gods,” said Corvalis. “That miserable little rat. Gods, but I wish I could have killed him in Artifel. Or Cyrioch. Or Caer Magia.”

  “They’re both here,” said Caina. “Sicarion and Ranarius. They’re having a little competition to see who can kill me first.”

  “If we go to the Ghosts of Marsis,” said Corvalis, “then they…”

  “No,” said Caina. “They will try to kill me on sight. They’ll assume I betrayed the Ghosts. Or that the magi twisted my mind. At the very least they’ll take me prisoner, and Ranarius and Sicarion will have no trouble finding me.”

  “Then what do we do now?” said Corvalis.

  Caina didn’t know.

  “We need to get out of the city,” said Corvalis. “The Legions and the Ghosts won’t stop hunting Anna Callenius, not when the Emperor is about to make peace with New Kyre. They will assume it is connected to Aiodan’s death. We can find another ship and make our way to…”

  “No,” whispered Caina.

  An idea came to her.

  Ranarius and Sicarion hated each other, and were competing to kill her first.

  Which meant they would not aid each other.

  “No,” she said. “We’re going to find Sicarion and Ranarius and kill them both.”

  “How?” said Corvalis. “We’ve already killed Ranarius several times. We don’t know how to make him stay dead.”

  “No,” said Caina, “but I think I know somehow who does.”

  Chapter 7 - The Renegade

  The street ahead stank o
f chemicals.

  Marsis’s dockside district carried a reputation as a den of thieves, but this street looked exceptionally sinister. The open windows of the abandoned houses gaped like empty eyes. The docks stank of salt and fish, but here a heavy chemical reek hung over everything, along with the faint hint of rotting meat. The house at the end of the alley had a noticeable lean, like a corpse sagging against a wall.

  And Caina felt the tingle of sorcerous power in the air.

  “Pleasant place,” muttered Corvalis.

  “It’s really not,” said Caina.

  “You trust this Nicorus?” said Corvalis.

  “Not in the least,” said Caina. “He used to be one of the high magi. Then he got on the wrong side of your father.”

  “My father has many wrong sides,” said Corvalis,

  “Specifically, he slept with one of your father’s favorite mistresses. In retribution, the First Magus had him castrated, expelled from the Magisterium, and banished to Marsis,” said Caina.

  “Not a reliable source for help,” said Corvalis.

  “He isn’t” said Caina. “He’s a coward and a fool, but he’s not stupid. The Red Circle of necromancers used to rule Marsis until the Kyracians wiped them out, but Nicorus has studied their secrets. If anyone in Marsis knows how to permanently kill Ranarius, it will be Nicorus.”

  “I should come with you,” said Corvalis.

  “No,” said Caina. “I can sense his wards. You can’t. And you might not know him, but he will probably know you. I doubt he would react well to Decius Aberon’s bastard son strolling into his parlor.”

  “Likely not,” said Corvalis. “But if you take too long, I will get you out.”

  “I know,” said Caina. “Thank you.”

  She took a deep breath and turned to face Nicorus’s sagging house.

  The alley was silent, though she heard the distant clatter of armored men hastening through the streets, the flare of torchlight glimmering in the distance. Caina took three steps and stopped as the tingle of sorcery washed over her.

  One of Nicorus’s wards.

  He kept spells of alarm and detection wrapped around his residence, but this ward would trigger a blast of psychokinetic force capable of shattering bone and cracking skulls. The outcast magus must have activated his defensive spells in response to the chaos gripping the city.