“Indeed,” said Halfdan. “As you have discerned, my dear, there are any number of powerful people who want the war between the Empire and Istarinmul to continue, people who have the means to murder Tanzir Shahan while he is in Malarae. Our task, therefore, is to keep the good emir alive long enough to sign a treaty of peace with the Emperor. I will need your help for this, Caina. You are more observant than anyone I have ever met…and you have a gift for improvisation in life-and-death situations.” He smiled. “As a few Kindred found out last night, I expect.”
“You have it,” said Caina.
“And you, Master Corvalis,” said Halfdan, “or should I say Master Anton? You know how assassins operate. We will need your help to keep the emir alive. And as Malarae’s rising young merchant prince of coffee, you’ll have access to the social circles Tanzir will visit during his time in Malarae.” He winked at Caina. “Along with Master Anton’s mistress, of course.”
“I am yours to command,” said Corvalis.
“Splendid,” said Halfdan, looking back at Caina. “When you asked Zalandris to give you Khaltep Irzaris’s coffee beans as your reward, I thought it a good idea…but I did not dream it would be as successful as it has been. You and Corvalis have done the Ghosts are a great service.”
“Thank you,” said Caina, a flush of warmth spreading through her. Halfdan was a hard, fair man…but compliments from him were as rare as jewels.
“Given that the Emir Tanzir will arrive soon,” said Corvalis, “doesn’t that make it all the more peculiar that some Istarish Kindred and Immortals were pursuing a pregnant slave girl through the streets of Malarae?”
“I agree,” said Ark.
“Why, thank you, Lord Champion,” said Corvalis.
Ark shrugged. “If you want an expert on killing, consult a Kindred assassin.”
“Indeed,” said Halfdan. “This Muravin. Is he awake?”
“He’s asleep,” said Ark, “but I knew men like him in the Legion. He sleeps with one eye open.”
“Not surprising, if he is indeed a gladiator and a slave of the fighting pits,” said Halfdan. “Corvalis, wait here. Caina, please come with me. I think it is the time we got to the bottom of this little mystery.”
Chapter 4 - Three Sisters
Ark led them into the inner rooms.
Caina saw Tanya’s touches everywhere. Cloths of Szaldic design hung upon the wall, and in the windows stood the little painted wooden statues designed to ward away the demons of Szaldic legend.
Of course, not all the demons in the Szaldic tales were legendary.
Caina knew that too well.
Tanya stood at the table in the dining room, looking over several plates of food. Nicolai sat at her left, eating a bowl of porridge. A baby girl of three months rested in Tanya’s right arm, eyes closed.
“Halfdan,” said Tanya with a smile. She crossed the room and kissed him on the cheek. “You old rascal, you stormcrow. Wherever you go, trouble follows.”
“My dear,” said Halfdan, “I fear you have it backwards. I simply go to the trouble.”
“Aye,” said Tanya, grinning at Caina, “and then you have the Balarigar end it.”
Caina smiled. She had told Tanya not to call her the Balarigar, but it never seemed to take.
“This is Natasha?” said Halfdan, looking at the baby.
“She is,” said Tanya. “I had wanted to name her Mihaela…”
“No,” said Caina, remembering the Forge in Catekharon’s heart. “You really didn’t.”
“But Natasha is a fine name as well, one of the great Szaldic queens of old,” said Tanya without missing a beat. “Caina.” She reached down with her free hand and picked up a clay cup. “Here. I thought you might like this when you woke up.”
Caina took the cup and drank. It was full of hot coffee, and it warmed her throat and lifted some of the tired haze from her mind.
“Thank you,” said Caina. “You have the hospitality of one of the great Szaldic queens of old.”
“We bought it from the House of Kularus, of course,” said Tanya.
Caina laughed. “Corvalis will approve.”
“Given that the House of Kularus is merely a front for spies,” said Tanya, “it certainly sells fine coffee.”
“Of course it does,” said Halfdan. “The best lies are always true. Where is Muravin? It’s time we have some answers.”
“The guest room,” said Tanya. “Careful around him, Master Halfdan. He’s a bit…prickly.”
Halfdan nodded. “Caina, with me. Tanya, Ark, thank you for your help.”
He walked to the guest room door and opened it, Caina following him. Muravin lay upon the bed in the guest room, his eyes closed. Yet he sat up at their approach, his scimitar appearing in his hand, his eyes hard and cold.
Halfdan closed the door behind him.
“A light sleeper, I see,” said Halfdan in flawless Istarish.
Muravin grunted. “Men can sleep deeply when they are dead. And I am not yet dead.”
“Unlike those Immortals and Kindred,” said Caina.
“As you say,” said Muravin. He looked back at Halfdan. “And who are you, merchant?” He snorted. “Though if you are a merchant, I am the Padishah.”
“A keen eye,” said Halfdan. “You can call me Basil Callenius.”
“And you are a chieftain of the Ghosts,” said Muravin.
“Something like that,” said Halfdan. “As you can imagine, I am curious why Immortals and the Istarish Kindred were chasing an escaped slave and his pregnant daughter through the streets of the Emperor’s capital city.”
Muravin snorted. “You are almost right. I was a slave. Now I am a freeman. Though more people are trying to kill me now than when I was a slave.”
“Perhaps you should tell me more,” said Halfdan, “if we are to keep you alive.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” said Muravin.
“Then decide,” said Halfdan. “Because you need my help. You are alone in a foreign city where most of the people do not speak Istarish, and you have a daughter who will give birth soon. Additionally, there are powerful men who want your daughter. You need help, or you’re going to die and the gods only know what will happen to your daughter.”
Muravin scowled. “And what do you want for your help? I have no money.”
Halfdan smiled. “You can pay us in secrets, for secrets are the business of the Ghosts. Secrets can be a weapon. And I am very interested in the secret of your story.”
“Very well,” said Muravin. “It seems I have no choice. And the woman of the shadows saved my life. If she has a name.”
Caina thought for a moment. “Sonya. You can call me Sonya.”
“Sonya, then,” said Muravin. “And you have given me no reason to distrust you…so this is what I know. I was a gladiator for many years, fighting in the pits of Istarinmul.” He drew himself up. “I was the best. Again and again I was victorious, and no man could stand against me. The most powerful men in Istarinmul purchased me, and I fought in the Arena of the Padishahs itself. Three times I was the champion, and at last my freedom was purchased.”
“By who?” said Halfdan.
“By the Seneschal of the College of Alchemists,” said Muravin. “As his bodyguard. Former slaves are despised in Istarinmul, but the champion of the Arena of the Padishahs has some prestige. Within five years I found husbands for all three of my daughters, and soon all three were with child.”
“And you have no wife?” said Halfdan.
Muravin’s eyes grew a little distant. “She died, many years ago.”
Halfdan nodded. “I am sorry. Why did you flee to Malarae?”
Muravin scowled. “They killed my daughters.”
“Why?” said Halfdan.
“I do not know!” said Muravin, slapping his hand against the bed in frustration. “They sent the Kindred dogs to strike at us in the night. They slew my two oldest daughters, Ardaiza and Ranai, and cut the children from their wombs.”
Caina felt a chill. “What?”
“They slew my daughters and their husbands,” said Muravin, his tone flat, “and cut the children from their wombs. After they were dead. I suppose that was a mercy.”
“A small one,” said Caina.
But his words brought back memories of her time as a prisoner in Maglarion’s lair, of the lectures Maglarion had given to his students. Necromancy drew upon blood and death for its power, and Maglarion had said the blood of unborn children could fuel certain powerful spells.
“How did Mahdriva survive?” said Halfdan.
“She and her husband were with me when the Kindred found us,” said Muravin. “I slew the Kindred, but not before they killed Mahdriva’s husband.” He sighed. “He was a good man. I went to the Seneschal to warn him, but he was slain, too.”
“The Kindred killed the Seneschal as well?” said Caina.
“Aye,” said Muravin. “He was a fat, pompous braggart, but a decent master.”
“Perhaps the Seneschal was the target,” said Halfdan, “and you and your family were merely in the way.”
“Unlikely,” said Caina. “Else why go to the trouble of…taking the unborn children? The Kindred can be cruel, but only if they are paid to be so.”
“And you know the Kindred well, woman of the shadows?” said Muravin.
She did. Riogan, a former assassin of the Kindred, had trained her in weapons and stealth. She had fought against Kindred assassins in Malarae and Cyrioch. And she now shared a bed with a former assassin of the Kindred.
But Muravin didn’t need to know that.
“I do,” said Caina.
“So the Seneschal was slain,” said Halfdan, “and you decided to flee for Malarae.”
“I did,” said Muravin. “The Seneschal was my patron, and someone powerful obviously wanted my daughters dead. If we stayed in Istarinmul we would perish. Getting out of the city unseen was a challenge, but we managed it. It was easier once we reached the great desert of the Argamaz. The war between the Padishah and your Emperor has thrown the desert clans into chaos, and it was easy for me to find work as a caravan guard. We made our way to Malarae with a caravan.” Muravin shrugged. “I thought to travel north, to the Imperial Pale. It is said fighting men are always in demand there, and I hoped to find a strong husband for my daughter, one to take care of her when I am dead.”
“Instead the Kindred found you,” said Halfdan. “Do you know how?”
“I know not,” said Muravin. “They must have followed us.”
“The first attack,” said Caina. “When the Kindred killed Ardaiza and Ranai. Were there any Immortals then?”
“No,” said Muravin. “I did not see any Immortals until they attacked us at the Inn of the Broken Wheel.”
“Thank you,” said Halfdan. “A few more questions. Do you know the name Rezir Shahan?”
Muravin snorted. “Of course. He was the emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars. He led the attack on Marsis…but some Szaldic demon called the Balarigar slew him. Or so the story goes.”
“Did you ever meet Rezir Shahan?” said Halfdan. “Or speak with him?”
Muravin shook his head. “I saw him once or twice when he attended the fights at the Arena, or when he visited the College of Alchemists. But I was beneath his notice.”
“What about the new emir,” said Halfdan, “his brother Tanzir?”
“I never saw him,” said Muravin. “Do you think House Shahan slew my daughters? I doubt it. Rezir never knew me…and Tanzir, rumor holds, is a coward dominated by his Anshani mother.”
“Tanzir, in fact,” said Halfdan, “is the Padishah’s new Lord Ambassador to the Emperor.”
Muravin laughed. “Truly? Then the Padishah must indeed desire peace.”
“And it is a strange coincidence, is it not?” said Halfdan. “A week before Tanzir is set to arrive in Malarae, you are attacked by Immortals in the streets.”
“It is peculiar,” said Muravin, “but I doubt it has anything to do with Mahdriva. Why would the Padishah care about my daughters? I was a gladiator, and the bodyguard of a high-ranking servant. We are beneath the notice of such powerful men.”
“Perhaps,” said Halfdan. “Nevertheless, someone took an interest in your daughters.”
“I know it well,” said Muravin. “That is all I know. So, chieftain of the Ghosts. Will you help me?”
“If I can,” said Halfdan, “if you will aid me.”
“I will,” said Muravin. “But understand this, Basil Callenius of the Ghosts. Do you know when a man becomes truly dangerous?”
“When he has nothing left to lose,” said Halfdan.
“He does,” said Muravin. “But a man who has only one thing left to lose is even more dangerous. Understand me well. My wife is ten years in her grave. Ardaiza and Ranai are slain. Mahdriva and her child are all that is left to me in this world. I will do whatever I can to save them.” He glared. “If I have to kill you, Sonya, and everyone else in this foundry to save them, I will do it.”
“I would expect no less,” said Halfdan. “We will help you, if we can. Please wait here, Muravin.”
He beckoned, and Caina followed him into the dining room. Ark and Tanya waited there, as did Corvalis, who was drinking a cup of coffee and chatting with Tanya. For all that Ark remained suspicious of the former Kindred, Tanya had developed a sort of maternal fondness for Corvalis.
“Well?” said Halfdan. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“He was,” said Caina, remembering the cold, unyielding pain in Muravin’s grim black eyes. “He doesn’t know why this happened to his family. But he’ll fight to his last breath to defend Mahdriva.”
“Is Mahdriva awake?” said Halfdan.
“No,” said Tanya. “I would recommend not questioning her until after she’s had some decent rest. She is utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. It is a miracle that she did not lose the baby. If you must discuss these grim things with her, please wait until she has rested.”
“Very well,” said Halfdan. “I doubt she’ll know why the Kindred are after her.”
“Necromancy,” said Caina at once. “The blood of an unborn child can be used to empower a potent spell. One the Alchemists must have hired the Kindred.”
Maglarion’s words echoed in her head.
“Perhaps,” said Halfdan with a frown. “Though it seems unlikely. Istarinmul’s College of Alchemists does not have the same tradition of necromancy as our Magisterium. The Alchemists use sorcery to cause the transmutation of physical substances, not to control the body and mind as the magi do.”
“A renegade, then,” said Caina. “Like Maglarion. And perhaps an Alchemist happens to be dabbling in necromancy.”
“If that is true,” said Corvalis, “wouldn’t it be easier simply to buy a slave girl? Fertile slave girls are cheap enough on the auction blocks of Istarinmul. If a necromancer required the blood of an unborn child, surely it would be far easier to buy a slave and impregnate her rather than murder the daughters of a freed man.”
“For that matter,” said Halfdan, “why the unborn children of sisters? Muravin said all three of his daughters were pregnant at the same time.”
“I don’t know,” said Caina. “But there is more going on here than Muravin knows, that is plain.”
“And the Immortals,” said Halfdan. “Only the Padishah, the emirs, and the Alchemists can command the Immortals. If the Kindred alone had pursued Muravin north, I would say this is a coincidence. But Immortals in Malarae a week before Tanzir Shahan arrives? An unlikely coincidence.”
“Then the question is,” said Corvalis, “what do we do about it?”
“Muravin and Mahdriva cannot stay here,” said Caina. “It is not safe for Ark and Tanya and the children.”
Tanya frowned. “We would be happy to shelter them.”
“And the foundry is defensible,” said Ark. “My workers know how to handle themselves.”
“I have no doubt of that,
” said Halfdan, “and your kindness does both of you credit. But if this Nalazar tracked Muravin and Mahdriva to the Inn of the Broken Wheel, he might be clever enough to follow them here. I don’t want to take that chance. No, better to find a new hiding place.”
“Where, then?” said Corvalis.
“I think,” said Caina, “that I know just the place.” She looked at Halfdan. “Did you bring your coach?”
“Of course,” said Halfdan. “Basil Callenius, master merchant of the Imperial Collegium of jewelers, can hardly walk the streets like a common peddler, can he?”
“Does it have enough room for Mahdriva and Muravin?” said Caina.
Halfdan nodded.
“Then we had better go,” said Caina.
Chapter 5 - The House of Kularus
A short time later Caina stood before the mirror in her bedroom.
She had bathed quickly, just enough to wash away the sweat and blood from last night. Now she donned a red gown with a tight black bodice, tighter than she would have preferred, black scrollwork adorning the sleeves and skirt. She put golden earrings in her ears and several rings on her fingers, the stones large and gaudy. She arranged her blond hair in a simple style to display the earrings and the golden chain around her throat, and stepped back to examine the results in the mirror.
She looked exactly like the pretty mistress of a wealthy merchant, of a woman who had suddenly come into more money than she had the wit to handle.
In short, she looked exactly like Sonya Tornesti, mistress of Anton Kularus.
Though, of course, she kept the daggers hidden in her high-heeled boots and the throwing knives up her sleeves.
She left the bedroom and descended to the front hall, where Corvalis stood speaking with their seneschal, a skinny, humorless Saddaic man named Talzain.
“Master Anton,” said Talzain, dry-washing his hands. “I do wish you would notify me before you and…ah, Mistress Sonya departed unexpectedly in the night. It does so play havoc with breakfast.”
Corvalis shrugged. “It cannot be helped.” He wore black boots and trousers and a fine black coat over a stark white shirt, the very image of a rapacious young merchant. Though he did have a belt with a sheathed sword and dagger. But merchants had to guard against thieves and unscrupulous rivals. “My lady had a whim to take a walk by the water…and I am ever powerless before her desires.”
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 4
