Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes

by Jonathan Moeller

  “What was that about?” said Halfdan, closing the door behind him.

  “He hates himself,” said Caina, “because he’s inept with weapons and incapable of mustering the necessary level of cruelty to be a proper Istarish emir. Given that proper Istarish emirs tend to be men like Rezir Shahan, I suggested that it was not a bad thing.”

  Halfdan nodded. “Well, so long as he cooperates, he can believe whatever he likes. Meanwhile, we have to find the Bostaji as soon as possible.”

  “How long do we have?” said Caina.

  “A few days,” said Halfdan. “Maybe a week at most. I will speak to Lord Titus, and he will circulate the story that Tanzir hit his head during the panic and needs a few days to recover. Any longer, and people will get suspicious…and this entire thing might fall apart.”

  “So we need to find the Bostaji,” said Caina. “Any idea of where to start looking?”

  “None,” said Halfdan. “None of the other Ghost circles in the city have reported anything unusual. The Bostaji could be holed up in the catacombs or the sewers. Or in an abandoned warehouse. Or they might well have rented rooms at an inn somewhere. The only thing we know is that some of them are Anshani…but there are at least ten thousand Anshani in the city.”

  Caina nodded. Malarae was huge, the largest city in the civilized world. Nearly a million men, women, and children lived in its districts, lords and merchants and beggars and craftsmen and priests and soldiers and countless others. A few dozen Bostaji, if they were clever, could hide themselves almost anywhere, just as Nalazar and his Kindred had done.

  And the Bostaji had proven themselves to be clever.

  “We had better get started,” said Caina.

  Chapter 13 - Blades in the Night

  Caina traded the silk and linen of her gown for leather and wool.

  She donned the clothing of a common caravan guard, with mud-crusted boots, ragged trousers, a steel-studded leather jerkin, and a ragged brown cloak. A short sword and a dagger went in scabbards at her belt, and she strapped a pair of leather bracers to her forearm. She rubbed sweat into her hair, let it fall in greasy blond curtains around her jaw, and used makeup to create the illusion of stubble on her jaw and chin.

  When she finished, she looked like a ragged, disreputable mercenary, the sort of man who might either guard a caravan or rob it.

  She joined Corvalis in the alley behind the House of Kularus. He had put aside his merchant’s finery for clothing similar to hers, though he wore chain mail under his leather jerkin.

  “You look disreputable,” said Corvalis.

  “You look downright villainous,” said Caina.

  “It is a gift of mine,” he agreed with a smile. “Shall we find the Bostaji?”

  Caina nodded, and they went searching. Halfdan had set all the Ghost circles of Malarae seeking the hiding place of the Bostaji. Caina hoped they might also find where Nalazar and the Kindred of Istarinmul had their lair. They were connected somehow to Tanzir and the Bostaji, she was sure of it.

  Caina and Corvalis went to the dockside district, moving from inn to inn, from tavern to tavern, from brothel to brothel. They used the guise of couriers from Anshan, claiming to have news about a rich inheritance in the south. Caina saw dozens of Anshani men, but most were dockworkers, escaped slaves, and petty caravan guards.

  They found no trace of the Bostaji.

  Dusk fell, and after finding nothing, they returned to the House of Kularus.

  ###

  Caina left the kitchen and walked to the main floor of the coffee house. A few of the servants moved through the upper balconies, wiping down the tables, but the House was otherwise deserted. Halfdan sat at one of the tables on the main floor, sipping from a glass of wine.

  Caina and Corvalis sat across from him.

  “Where did you get wine?” said Corvalis.

  “Shaizid brought it for me,” said Halfdan. “He really is a sturdy fellow. You did well, Caina, hiring him as your manager.”

  “I’m surprised he doesn’t go into business for himself,” said Corvalis.

  “He can’t,” said Caina, voice quiet. “I tried to encourage him to do it, but refused to even consider it. He was born a slave, he was raised a slave…and he thinks like a slave. He’s smart and diligent, but he needs someone to tell him what to do.” She made a fist. “They put chains in his mind, and he’ll never be rid of them, not entirely.”

  “I take it,” said Halfdan, “that your search was unsuccessful?”

  “It was,” said Corvalis. “Did the other circles find anything?”

  “No,” said Halfdan. “Inquiries are underway, but nothing has turned up. Still, we shall keep looking. Malarae is a large city, and we’ll also search the surrounding villages and villas. Sooner or later…”

  “Master Anton!”

  One of the servants sprinted down the stairs from the balcony.

  “What is it?” said Corvalis.

  “There are armed men outside,” said the servant, pointing at the doors. “At least thirty of them.”

  “Mercenaries?” said Caina.

  “I don’t know,” said the servant, “but they have swords and shields and chain mail, and…”

  Caina ran to one of the narrow windows overlooking the Imperial Market. Through the glass she saw the dark shapes of armed men standing outside the House of Kularus. They wore chain mail and bore heavy shields, broadswords at their belts. Mercenaries, most likely. Caina saw another group of men standing behind the mercenaries, clad in dark leather armor and cloaks.

  In their midst she saw Nalazar.

  “Oh, damn,” breathed Caina.

  One of the mercenaries raised something.

  A crossbow.

  Caina shoved herself away from the window and hit the floor as the glass shattered in a rain of glittering shards. A crossbow bolt skipped off the floor next to her and came to a stop.

  She scrambled her feet and saw Corvalis and Halfdan with swords in their hands, Shaizid hovering behind them.

  “Nalazar and the Kindred,” said Caina. “Looks like they hired a mercenary company.”

  “How the devil did they find us?” said Corvalis. “Mahdriva hasn’t come out since she arrived…”

  “This is my fault,” said Caina. “One of the Kindred must have seen Muravin at the Imperial Citadel. I…”

  “We may assign blame,” said Halfdan, “once we have completed the more important business of staying alive.”

  Caina nodded. “Shaizid. Get your people, and get them ready to run.”

  “Shall we go out the back, mistress?” said Shaizid.

  “No!” said Caina. The Kindred and the mercenaries would have moved to seal off the back door as soon as possible. “No, get them to the cellar. We’ll have to use the escape tunnel.”

  “What about you, mistress?” said Shaizid.

  “We’ll be fine,” said Caina, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “Get everyone into the cellar. Now.” Shaizid nodded. “Go.”

  Shaizid sprinted away, yelling orders to the remaining maids and servants.

  “If the Kindred have someone watching the escape tunnel…” said Corvalis.

  “If they do, we’re dead in any event,” said Caina.

  “The tunnel was to remain a secret,” said Halfdan, raising his eyebrows.

  “I won’t leave Shaizid and his people here to die,” said Caina.

  Halfdan nodded. “Good. However, if we don’t have a plan, we’re all going to die anyway.”

  “I have one,” said Caina. “Go to the cellar and get Shaizid’s people and Mahdriva and the emir ready to move. Muravin wanted a chance to fight, well, he’s got it. We prepared for something like this…and it’s time to put those preparations to the test.”

  Halfdan looked at her, as did Corvalis, and Caina realized that she had just given commands to Halfdan, something she had never done before.

  “If you think that is best,” she added.

  Halfdan grinned. “I do. When you are
a circlemaster yourself one day, my dear, you’ll find it’s best to let your subordinates come up with good ideas. It saves you the trouble of having to come up with them yourself. Be careful.”

  He headed for the cellar.

  “Corvalis,” said Caina. “The bottles.”

  “What are you going to do?” said Corvalis, stepping towards the wall. He popped off a wooden panel, revealing a hidden compartment.

  Several bottles of multicolored fluid gleamed within the hidden space.

  “Buy time,” said Caina, running for the stairs. She dashed up to the second-floor balcony and crossed to the window. Below she saw the mercenaries standing before the doors. She spotted Nalazar standing behind the mercenaries, sword in hand, next to a middle-aged man Caina recognized as Tasca, the contact for the Malarae Kindred Shaizid had pointed out.

  Caina took a deep breath and opened the window.

  At once several mercenaries pointed their crossbows in her direction.

  “Nalazar of the Kindred!” she roared in Istarish, using the disguised, rasping tone she employed while wearing her shadow-cloak. “I know what you seek!”

  Nalazar scowled and raised his hand, and the mercenaries lowered their crossbows. Caina let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully this would buy enough time for Halfdan and Shaizid to get everyone into the secret tunnel.

  “Oh? Is that so?” said Nalazar in Istarish. “And just what do I seek, hmm? Perhaps I simply want a cup of coffee.”

  “Or you are seeking Mahdriva,” said Caina, “and what grows in her womb.”

  “Maybe I am,” said Nalazar. “Might you know where I can find her?”

  “I do,” said Caina, “and you are wasting your time. She is not here.”

  Nalazar laughed and looked at something in his left hand. Caina caught a flash of metal and glass in his grasp, and then he tucked the object into a pouch at his belt. It had looked like a jewelry box.

  “You’re lying, Ghost,” said Nalazar. “The girl is inside the coffee house, or perhaps a little below it. The cellar, I think. You will hand her over to us.”

  “Perhaps we can negotiate,” said Caina. She noted some of the mercenaries with crossbows changing position.

  “Oh?” said Nalazar.

  “One pregnant girl is of no particular importance,” said Caina. “But she is well-defended, and you will take significant losses if you try to take her by force. Perhaps we can reach an agreement that will allow you to claim her without bloodshed.”

  “Or,” said Nalazar, “I could simply kill you all and take the girl. Yes, I think I like that plan. Kill him!”

  The mercenaries raised their crossbows.

  But Caina had anticipated the attack, and threw herself backwards as they lifted their weapons. The glass of the window shattered as the quarrels hammered into it. Caina rolled back to her feet and sprinted down the stairs, the scabbard of her sword slapping against her left leg. She reached the main floor, and heard the crack of axes biting into wood.

  The mercenaries were cutting down the door.

  Caina felt a stab of irritation. Hiring glaziers and carpenters to repair the damaged windows and doors would not be cheap, and…

  She pushed aside the thought and joined Corvalis at one of the tables. He had mixed the contents of the bottles in a metal bowl. He held the final bottle in his left hand, his drawn sword in his right.

  “There were some flasks left,” said Corvalis, pointing at a pair of small clay flasks on the table.

  “Good,” said Caina, taking them. “They might be useful.”

  “Now?” said Corvalis.

  “Not yet,” said Caina, looking at the doors. They shook and heaved beneath the axe blows. One of the panels popped out and clattered across the floor. Caina glimpsed the mercenaries standing outside, axes rising and falling.

  Corvalis moved the bottle over the bowl, standing in the loose, ready posture that indicated imminent violence.

  The doors burst open, and the mercenaries stormed into the House of Kularus.

  “Now,” said Caina.

  Corvalis threw the bottle into the bowl, and they whirled and sprinted for the kitchen.

  An instant latter a dazzling flare filled with coffee house, a massive plume of smoke erupting from the bowl. The mercenaries came to a stunned halt as smoke billowed through the coffee house, more brilliant flashes throwing stark shadows against the wall. Caina had taken the formula for the concoction from the papers of the Kindred Sanctuary in Cyrioch. Among the documents had been the plans for making the smoke bombs the Kindred assassins of Cyrioch had employed, and Caina had put them to good use.

  She and Corvalis hurried into the kitchens, leaving the mercenaries and the assassins to fight their way through the smoke and confusion. Caina crossed to the cellar door, her mind working through the next steps. The escape tunnel from the armory led to the catacombs of Malarae, and from the catacombs they could make their way to the streets. But what then? They needed to find a new safe house, both for Tanzir and for Muravin and Mahdriva. They certainly could not come back here, not after Nalazar had found their hiding place. And no doubt Nalazar would be happy to kill Tanzir and claim the reward as a bonus.

  All this flashed through her mind as she reached for the cellar door.

  The door to the alley exploded open, and three mercenaries in chain mail burst into the kitchen, broadswords in hand and shields upon their arms. They took one look at Corvalis and Caina and charged.

  “Flask!” said Caina.

  Corvalis closed his eyes, and Caina flung one of the clay flasks she had taken from the table and screwed her eyes shut.

  It shattered against the leading mercenary’s shield.

  Even through her closed lids, she still saw the flash.

  She opened her eyes and charged as the mercenaries screamed, blinking and shaking their heads to clear the afterimage from their eyes. Corvalis lunged forward, sword flashing, and his blade plunged into the first mercenary before the man could recover. Caina stepped past the falling corpse, snatched a dagger from her belt, and stabbed. She opened the throat of the second mercenary, his blood flowing over her fingers.

  The third man lunged at her with a snarl, sword reaching for her chest.

  Corvalis beat aside the thrust and launched a swing of his own, the tip of his sword opening the man’s jaw. The mercenary staggered, and Caina drove the heel of her heavy boot into his knee. His leg buckled, and Corvalis sidestepped and brought his sword down onto the back of the mercenary’s neck.

  The man collapsed in a pool of his own blood.

  She looked at the mess. It would take ages to clean up the kitchen.

  The clatter of armor rose from the alley door, and she heard the shouts and cries of the mercenaries on the main floor.

  “Go!” said Corvalis, and Caina threw open the cellar door. They hurried into the stairwell, Corvalis barring the door behind them. Hopefully it would slow the Kindred long enough for Caina to escape with the others.

  They ran into the hidden armory. Halfdan waited with Shaizid and a dozen servants and maids. Muravin stood before Mahdriva, who looked tired and strained. Tanzir waited nearby, dry-washing his hands as his eyes darted back and forth.

  “Oh, mistress,” said Shaizid, “the Living Flame be praised that you are unharmed.”

  “None of us will be unharmed if we don’t hurry,” said Caina. “The door, Shaizid.”

  Shaizid nodded and pulled a hidden lever beneath one of the shelves. Another portion of the wall swung back, revealing an ancient stairwell that spiraled down into the earth. It had once been an entrance leading to Malarae’s catacombs, until the city’s growth had built over the old temple that once stood on the House of Kularus’s location. The entrance had been forgotten…but Halfdan had remembered it, and arranged for the builders to include it as a secret exit.

  “This way, all of you,” said Shaizid. “Quickly. There is not much time.”

  Corvalis went first to scout the way, sword and lantern
in hand. Shaizid and the servants followed, then Muravin, helping his daughter along. Tanzir went next, hand grabbing at the wall for support, and then Halfdan followed the emir.

  Caina went last, closing and locking the door behind her. Nalazar might not find the hidden door at all. But if he did, it was stout and thick and would resist for a long time. By then, Caina hoped to have gotten Muravin and Mahdriva to safety. She started down the stairs, following the light of the retreating lanterns.

  The stairs ended in a long galley, the vaulted roof supported by thick brick pillars. The dancing lights of the lantern revealed hundreds of niches lining the walls, stuffed with moldering bones. Small niches held funerary urns, some of age-tarnished bronze, other of stone, and still others of brittle clay. The air smelled musty, and Caina heard the distant skittering of rats.

  “This is an ill-omened place,” said Mahdriva, voice faint.

  “It is,” said Caina, “but it will let us get away. We…”

  A crossbow bolt hurtled out of the darkness and slammed into Tanzir. The emir fell with a strangled shout of pain.

  “Take them!” roared a voice in Istarish, and a half-dozen black-cloaked men appeared from around the pillars, weapons in hand. “Kill them all, but leave the girl alive!”

  The servants fled back towards the stairs, Shaizid shouting at them. Corvalis and Halfdan raced to meet the assassins, swords in hand. Muravin stood before his daughter, brandishing weapons in either hand and bellowing curses at his attackers. Caina ran after Corvalis as four of the Kindred converged upon him. Two faced Corvalis and Halfdan from the front, while the others circled to stab him from behind.

  Caina lunged, dagger in hand, and buried the blade in the back of the nearest Kindred. The man stiffened, and she ripped the weapon free and stabbed him twice more before he fell. She stepped back, the blade wet with blood, and the assassin toppled to the damp stone floor. A second assassin charged at her, his sword a blur. Caina jumped back, but not fast enough, and the tip of his sword raked across her chest and belly. Her leather armor kept the blade from reaching her skin, but the sheer force of the blow knocked her to the floor.

  The assassin loomed over her, raising his sword for a killing blow.