Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 08 - Ghost in the Mask

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Of course not,” said Komnene. She glanced at the dried hams and sausages hanging from the rafters. “Your stock seems a bit thin.”

  “Aye,” said Murtagh, scowling behind his bushy mustache. “It’s those damned cultists in the hills. They’ve turned bandit, claim their dusty old foreign god is going to overthrow the Empire. The farmers have gotten too scared to bring their cattle to town.” He shook his head. “Lord Martin needs to write to the Lord Governor in Caeria Superior, have him send men from the Legion to clear the hills. The town militia isn’t enough to keep the roads safe.”

  “Perhaps he shall,” said Komnene, “but the Lord Governor of Caeria Superior might not have any men to send. All the Legions have moved to the coast, to prepare for the war against New Kyre.”

  Murtagh snorted. “Well, Lord Corbould Maraeus will whip the Kyracians, and then the Legions will come north again. They can settle with these damned cultists and their foreign god.”

  Claudia was not so sure. She had met Kylon of House Kardamnos, Kylon Shipbreaker, in Catekharon, and he was not the sort of man anyone could defeat easily. If the other stormdancers and stormsingers of New Kyre were anything like him, Lord Corbould might find he had bitten off more than he could chew.

  Next they went to the workshop of Rudraig the stonemason. The Caers traditionally used stone to build the walls of their homes, and Rudraig had no shortage of work. Additionally, the Caerish nobility, like the nobles across the Empire, had a mania for statues, and Rudraig kept three sculptors laboring full-time in his workshop.

  “How is the leg?” said Komnene.

  “Healing,” said Rudraig, a huge, towering hulk of a man. A chisel had broken while carving a block, tearing a six-inch gash into his thigh. The injury had not slowed him appreciably. “Itches like the devil, but I don’t scratch it, just as you said.”

  Komnene nodded. “Well, have your trousers off, and let’s take a look.”

  Rudraig looked at Claudia, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

  “For Minaerys’s sake,” said Komnene, “all your workers are men, and I delivered your wife’s last child.”

  Rudraig sighed and lowered his trousers, and Komnene examined the wound for a moment, then pronounced herself satisfied.

  “It is healing nicely,” said Komnene. “I will come back in a week or so and take the stitches out. It should hold together, so long as you don’t overexert yourself.”

  Rudraig tugged his trousers back up with a grunt. “I’m a stonemason. All my work’s with my hands.”

  “Did you buy a new chisel yet?” said Komnene.

  Rudraig scowled. “Can’t. That crazy noblewoman Lady Maena has got all the smiths busy repairing her pickaxes and shovels. So does that foreign sorcerer Anashir.” He spat, the spittle leaving a dark spot on the rock dust coating the workshop floor. “Not right, digging so close to the Henge. They’ll dig something up they don’t want to find, you mark my words.”

  “I fear you are right,” said Komnene.

  And so it went as Komnene made her rounds, Claudia assisting. They tended illnesses, set broken legs, stitched wounds, looked after sick children, and mixed medicines. And people told them things in return. Claudia found herself admiring how efficiently Komnene went about her work. Caina Amalas disguised herself as noblewomen and the wealthy daughters of merchants and gleaned secrets. Komnene bothered with no such disguises. She was a simply physician…and she gathered secrets just as efficiently as Caina did.

  “So,” murmured Komnene as they stood in the street outside a house belonging to one of the town’s magistrates. “It seems that Maena and Anashir are indeed digging outside the Henge. But why, I wonder? Not this foolishness about relics from the Seventh Battle of Calvarium. It has something to do with Caer Magia. But what?”

  “Perhaps they think to tunnel into the city,” said Claudia.

  “It won’t work,” said Komnene. “Some enterprising magus tried that a century ago. Whatever sorcery kills intruders after seven hundred and seventy-seven heartbeats is just as effective below Caer Magia as it is within it.”

  “What about all those mercenaries?” said Claudia. “The innkeeper at the Seven Skulls said Anashir has a great many foreign mercenaries with him – Kyracians and Istarish and Anshani.”

  “I don’t know,” murmured Komnene.

  “It seems likely,” said Claudia, “that Maena and Anashir are looking for the same thing, and they will come to blows once one of them finds it. Hence all the mercenaries with Anashir. And Lady Maena’s ‘retainers’ – I’m sure they’re mercenaries she hired and dressed up in her colors.”

  “That seems likely,” said Komnene. “But the only thing we know for certain is that we are sailing in dangerous waters.” She shook her head. “I shall have to send messages to Malarae. We need aid, quickly. This situation is…”

  “Mistress Komnene!”

  Claudia turned, startled, and found her hand coming up to work a spell, but she squelched the impulse. No one in Calvarium, save for Komnene, knew that she was a sorceress, that she had once been a magus of the Imperial Magisterium. Claudia preferred to keep it that way. She was much happier as a physician’s apprentice that she had ever been as a magus and the First Magus’s bastard daughter.

  And if Decius Aberon found her, he would likely try to kill her simply out of spite.

  A man in the chain mail and green tabard of Calvarium’s militia ran towards them.

  “Yes, Rion?” said Komnene. “What is it?”

  “Lord Martin sends his compliments,” said Rion, “and asks you to come to the northern gate. Two of his men have been hurt.”

  “What happened?” said Komnene.

  “There was a brawl between some of Lady Maena’s men and some of Anashir’s at the gate,” said Rion. “Nobody was killed, thank the gods, and Lord Martin broke it up. But two of the militiamen fell from the wall in the fighting and broke their legs.”

  “Only two?” said Komnene. “And they each broke only one leg?”

  “Yes, mistress,” said Rion.

  Komnene nodded. “Claudia, you can handle this.”

  “Me?” said Claudia, surprised. Komnene had sent her to handle tasks alone before, but not often.

  “You know what to do,” said Komnene. “I leave it in your hands. Do as you think best, and I shall meet you at the shop once I have finished visiting our other patients.”

  Claudia opened her mouth to protest. She had failed as a magus of the Magisterium, she had failed as a rebel against her father, she had failed as a Ghost, and the gods only knew how she would fail if she tried to treat those men on her own.

  But Claudia had studied under Komnene for a year now, and she knew the older woman was no fool. If Komnene thought she could do it, then perhaps Claudia could treat those militiamen.

  “I…I will do as you say,” said Claudia.

  Komnene smiled. “Of course you shall. I have a very commanding voice.”

  She turned and walked off, her cane tapping against the flagstones of the street.

  “Mistress?” said Rion to Claudia. “Will you accompany me to the northern gate?”

  “Yes,” said Claudia. For a moment she didn’t know what to do. But she was the daughter of Decius Aberon and had commanded servants for most of her life. And Komnene had taught her how to treat broken bones. “But we will have to take the men to Komnene’s shop. I can work on them more easily there. Can you arrange to have cots made up to carry the men? They should be carried, lest a broken bone damage their blood vessels.”

  “It shall be as you say,” said Rion.

  ###

  A short time later Claudia stood in Komnene’s shop, working on the injured militiamen. Both men had been knocked from the wall in the tussle between Lady Maena’s retainers and Anashir’s mercenaries, breaking their right legs. Claudia gave them strong drink mixed with a hint of drugs to dull the edge of the pain, had the militiamen lift their injured comrades to the tables, and put into practice wha
t she had learned.

  She set the broken bones in place, binding the legs with splints. Once the splints were in place, she wound bandages dipped in plaster around both the legs and the splints. As the plaster hardened, the bandages would transform into a rigid shell, locking the leg in place as the bones knit together.

  “Have them carried home,” said Claudia. “They’ll need to keep those splints on for at least five weeks, maybe more. The smell will be unpleasant, especially towards the end, but the bones will heal straight.”

  The centurion in command gave orders and had the injured men carried home, leaving Claudia alone in the shop. She let out a long breath and started cleaning the flecks of plaster from her hands. It had gone well. She hoped Komnene would approve of what she had done…

  The voices of men speaking in the street outside came to her ears, and the door to the shop swung open.

  Martin Dorius, Lord Governor of Calvarium, stepped inside.

  He was about thirty-five, tall and stern-faced, the very image of a highborn Nighmarian lord. Yet there were gray streaks in his black hair, and dark circles around his gray eyes. Martin gave her the impression of a man who had seen things he would rather forget.

  Claudia understood that. She had seen and done things in Catekharon that she would rather have forgotten.

  From what she had heard, Martin Dorius had once been a Lord Commander of the Legions, serving under Conn Maraeus in the war against Istarinmul. Martin had disagreed with Conn too often, and Lord Corbould had arranged the downfall of his eldest son’s biggest irritant. Lord Martin had lost his Legion, his political standing, and had found himself exiled to Calvarium as the new Lord Governor of Caeria Ulterior.

  Yet he impressed Claudia nonetheless. She would have expected a disgraced lord to turn to drink or prostitutes to numb his sorrows. But Martin pursued his duties with diligence.

  It was just as well. With the worshippers of Anubankh in the hills and Lady Maena and Anashir digging outside the Henge, Calvarium needed a man of Lord Martin’s skills.

  “My Lord Governor,” said Claudia, bowing. All at once she wished she had worn nicer clothes, that she did not have plaster dust on her hands and in her hair.

  “I ask your pardon,” said Martin in his deep voice. “I hope I am not disturbing your work?”

  “No, my lord,” said Claudia. “I had just finished, and sent the men with their centurion.”

  “I know,” said Martin. “I spoke with their centurion. Thank you for your efforts, madam. I saw many battlefield injuries in the Argamaz, and you did good work.”

  “My lord is too kind,” said Claudia. “I fear you may have seen wounds far more dire than broken legs.”

  “I did,” said Martin, his gray eyes growing more distant for a moment, “but a broken leg can cripple a man for life, if it is not set properly. And I would not wish that upon my men, or the wives and children who depend upon their pay.”

  Again his diligence struck her. The Lord Governorship of Calvarium was beneath him, yet he approached it with diligence nonetheless. But Claudia had duties of her own. She was a Ghost…and they needed to find out what was happening below the Henge.

  “Do you think it will be a battle, my lord?” said Claudia. “Between Lady Maena and Anashir’s men?”

  It was an impertinent question for a physician’s apprentice to ask a Lord Governor, but Martin answered nonetheless.

  “It well might,” said Martin. “Lady Maena is bad enough. She claims to seek ancestral relics of House Tulvius, lost in the Seventh Battle of Calvarium. Never mind that only fools dig near Caer Magia. But Anashir…an Anshani occultist digging near the wreck of Caer Magia? He claims to have letters from the Emperor permitting him to dig for Anshani artifacts, but I am certain he seeks a sorcerous relic of Caer Magia. I would consult with Oberon Ryther, my magus advisor, but the man is useless.”

  “I wouldn’t know of such things,” said Claudia, which was a lie. Her father had spoken of Oberon Ryther, had considered the man a useless fool…which was how he had ended up at Calvarium.

  But Martin continued speaking.

  “The Emperor and the honorable Lord Corbould might wish to make allies of the Shahenshah in Anshan, but surely that cannot extend to allowing Anshani occultists free reign inside the Empire. And that is assuming the worshippers of Anubankh do not raise the Caerish provinces in revolt against the Emperor.”

  “A revolt?” said Claudia, shocked. “The Caerish lands have been loyal to the Emperor since the time of the Second Empire. Surely…surely they would not revolt?”

  Martin shrugged. “Such things have happened before. Recently, even. The Saddaic provinces almost revolted two years past. But the corrupt Lord Governor died suddenly, and the provinces quieted. Rumor says the Ghosts assassinated the Lord Governor to stave off a rebellion.”

  Suddenly Claudia wondered where Caina Amalas had been two years ago.

  “But hopefully we can calm the situation before it comes to that,” said Martin. “I have written to the Lord Governor in Caeria Superior to ask for troops. If I can sweep the hills of these cultists, it will do much to calm the mood of the province.” He shook his head. “But I should not trouble you with all of this.”

  “I do not mind,” said Claudia. “In fact, I am honored that you would speak with me.” She took a deep breath. “And if I may risk impertinence…I have seen met many Lord Governors, my lord, and few could match your diligence.”

  She expected him to brush off the compliment, or to acknowledge it with a nod, but he seemed grateful. “Thank you, madam. You do me more kindness than I deserve. I fear a diligent Lord Governor would do a better job of keeping his province in order.”

  Claudia smiled at him. “Such judgments are beyond a simple physician’s apprentice.”

  “I wonder at that,” said Martin.

  “My lord?” said Claudia, hiding her alarm. Had she realized that she was a Ghost? Or, worse, had she realized that Komnene was a circlemaster?

  “You speak High Nighmarian like a noblewoman,” said Martin, “and you know far more about the Empire’s history and politics than I would expect in a physician’s apprentice.”

  Claudia shrugged. “If you must know, my lord…I am the bastard daughter of a nobleman of Artifel.” That much was true, at least. “He…thought to wed me to one his allies, but I displeased him grievously. He disowned me, and I was left impoverished with nowhere else to go. But Komnene took pity upon me. She accepted me as an apprentice.”

  Martin nodded. “A sad tale. And one that I can understand. My father is a close supporter of Lord Corbould Maraeus. And once I had displeased Lord Corbould…my father turned his back on me.”

  “I am sorry,” said Claudia, thinking of Decius Aberon. Once she had admired him and hoped to win his approval…and then she had seen the First Magus for the kind of man he really was. “I can understand that, too.”

  Martin shook his head. “It is funny, you know. I had thought Calvarium would be quiet. I hoped to indulge the traditional activity of exiled lords and write a book. A twelve volume history of the Empire, from the First Emperor to the present day. And I only reached the third volume by the time the worshippers of Anubankh appeared.”

  “I would like to read it, my lord,” said Claudia.

  For the first time, Martin smiled. “You would? Then I shall make certain to have my scribe send over a copy. Once we have time for such things. In the meantime, I must be about my duties, and I do not wish to keep you from your work.”

  “A pleasure, my lord,” said Claudia.

  Martin nodded and left the shop.

  Claudia moved to the window and watched him walk towards the magistrate’s hall at the heart of Calvarium. She was surprised that her heart was beating a little faster, that she felt a flush in her cheeks. Had she been blushing in front of him? She hoped not.

  Claudia found him admirable…in more ways than one.

  But it was an idle fancy. She was an outcast magus masquerading as
a physician’s apprentice, and even disgraced, he was still a Lord of the Empire and a Lord Governor of a province. She was beneath his notice. Perhaps he might take her as a mistress, and Claudia found even that prospect more appealing than she might have a year ago. But he was the Lord Governor, and he could have his pick of mistresses, and even if he chose her, one day he would return to Malarae and leave her behind.

  An overwhelming wave of loneliness washed through her. Once she had thought to rise high in the Magisterium, to use her powers for the benefit of all mankind. Catekharon had taught her the folly of that. Now she was Komnene’s apprentice and a spy. Her father wanted her dead, if he bothered to think about her at all, and her brother was hundreds of miles away in Malarae.

  Claudia was alone, as she had rarely been in her life, and she felt tears in her eyes.

  She leaned against the window, and her eyes turned to the hills north of Calvarium.

  To the black walls of Caer Magia.

  Her loneliness vanished, replaced by fear. Something terrible had happened in that city a century and a half ago, something that had killed over one hundred thousand people.

  Something that might happen again, if Maena and Anashir found whatever it was they sought.

  Unless the Ghosts found a way to stop them.

  Claudia had failed as magus, had failed in Catekharon.

  But she would not, she vowed, fail at this.

  The stakes were far too high.

  She started to clean the tables, waiting for Komnene to return so she could report what she had learned from Lord Martin.

  Chapter 4 - The Stormdancer

  Kylon, the High Seat of House Kardamnos and the thalarchon of New Kyre’s seventh fleet, had known he would have to wed after his sister Andromache died in Marsis.

  He had no choice.

  Andromache had been one New Kyre’s nine Archons, the leaders of the Assembly, and she had been the most powerful stormsinger the city had seen in centuries. At her word alone, the Assembly had agreed to ally with Rezir Shahan of Istarinmul to seize Marsis from the Empire. Andromache had promised a swift victory, one that would ensure the Empire would never again threaten Kyracian interests in the western sea.