The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  Caina nodded, understanding.

  “I traveled back with them to her father’s village. Her husband had been killed by Anshani slavers, and her father crippled in the same attack. That was why she had to go to market herself. They needed a strong man…and I needed something. Anything. A reason to live.” He smiled at the memory, one of the few true smiles she had ever seen on that grim face. “We were married four months later. I had never been a happy man, Countess. But for the first time, I was happy. All the men in the legions are trained in a craft, and I was trained as a blacksmith. I became the village smith, and Tanya didn’t have to grub in the fields any more. We had a child, a son. It was a good life.”

  His story sounded like a dark mirror of her own. “And what happened?”

  Something ugly kindled in Ark’s dead eyes. “I went into the woods to hunt. When I returned, I found the village burned to the ground, all the women and children gone, the men lying dead. Her father lived long enough to tell me what had happened. The Anshani slavers had returned. I followed them, but they had horses. They made it to their ship and got away with their captives. I tried to find a ship to follow them, and then I met Halfdan.”

  “Halfdan?” said Caina, frowning. She worked out the dates in her head. “This was…what, three, four years ago?”

  Ark nodded. “He had come to bring down the slavers. Since I needed the help, I joined him. We found their base, raised a unit of local veterans, and destroyed it. Killed them all. But the slavers’ ship was not to be found. I was ready to chase it to hell and back. But Halfdan told me that it could have gone to twelve different ports, that I’d never find it without his help. So I joined the Ghosts, and he sent out word.” Ark closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

  “What happened to the ship?” said Caina.

  “I don’t know,” said Ark. “Nineteen different ports have slave markets in the western sea, and the Ghosts have agents in them. Halfdan checked with them. All of them. The ship never put in. It simply vanished. Most likely it sank in a storm. My wife, my son, and my stepson are all dead. They drowned.” His hands curled into fists. “They drowned, after enduring gods know what torments, because I failed to save them. I had a second chance, and I lost it, because of my folly, because I wasn’t there to protect them.”

  His breathing came hard and sharp, but no tears. Ark was not the kind of man to cry, Caina suspected. Instead he would drown his grief in blood. Not even the gods themselves could save those slavers if Ark ever found them.

  “I’m sorry,” said Caina. She hesitated, and touched his shoulder. “At least…at least I know what happened to my father. Awful as it was. But not to know…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should not have forced you to tell me.”

  Ark barked a harsh laugh. “Why not? I forced you to tell me your secrets, didn’t I?” He laughed without mirth again. “But aren’t we a pair, though? The orphan and the widower. Does Halfdan only recruit the bereaved?”

  “We have more reason to fight tyrants than most,” said Caina. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  Ark frowned. “Question?”

  “Why you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” said Ark quietly, miserably. “I did at first, though. I thought you were a seductress, the sort of woman who would unlock a man’s secrets by seducing him and stabbing him in the back. But then I saw that you are brave, and clever, far cleverer than I could ever be. Then I simply did not know what to make of you.”

  “But why did that make you hate me?”

  Ark looked her in the eye. “Because you look like Tanya.”

  Caina had no answer for that.

  “You have black hair. Blue eyes. So did Tanya. You even resemble her in the face somewhat. She was a little taller, and not so lean, but still…” Ark sighed. “When I came to Halfdan’s inn and saw you sitting there…for a moment I thought that Halfdan had found Tanya. That she had not died after all, that she had come back to me. For just a moment…and then I came closer, and saw that you were not her.”

  He fell silent.

  “So you were angry with me that I was not your dead wife?” said Caina.

  Ark snorted. “It sounds foolish when you say it that way.” He shook his head. “It was foolish.”

  “No,” said Caina. “Not foolish. Sad. But not foolish.”

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “My real name,” said Caina, “my true name, is Caina. Of House Amalas, my father’s House.”

  “Caina?” said Ark. “It suits you, I think. My true name is Arcion. Once of Caer Marist, then of the Eighteenth Legion, and then the village of Hruzac, and now of the Ghosts.”

  “Arcion,” said Caina.

  “Caina,” said Ark.

  “If it will make you feel better,” said Caina, “I suppose I am technically an Imperial Countess. Or at least I would be, had my father lived.”

  Ark laughed. “I cannot tell you what a comfort that is to me.”

  “Then perhaps this will comfort you,” said Caina. “You were right.”

  Ark blinked. “About what?”

  “Neither Ephaeron nor Kalastus had anything to do with these murders,” said Caina.

  “But Kalastus just tried…”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “He just tried to rape me. Which was stupid. Marianna Nereide is an Imperial Countess. You were right there, and there had to have been at least a dozen witnesses within earshot. It was a stupid risk, and men that stupid do not commit nearly thirty murders undetected. I doubt he’s clever enough to have pulled it off, or even clever enough to have actually learned pyromancy. And he said that Ephaeron is actively investigating the murders. So neither of the masters of the Magisterium are behind this.”

  Ark nodded.

  “They’re still villains, though.”

  “I shan’t argue,” said Ark. “Could one of the lesser magi be behind it?”

  “Possibly,” said Caina, “but I don’t know for sure. If we’re going to find this Ashbringer, the place to start looking is the Sons of Corazain.”

  “And just how are we going to do that?” said Ark.

  “Sister Tadaia is a fine speaker,” said Caina. “I think that it’s past time that we heard her preach, don’t you?”

  Ark nodded. “I do.”

  “And when we find this pyromancer,” said Caina, her voice soft, “this murderer who is cut from the same cloth as my mother and your slavers, we’ll know what to do.”

  “Indeed.” Ark’s gray eyes glinted. “We will.”

  They walked back to the Inn together, side by side.

  Chapter 17 - Charity

  The next morning, Caina began the day with a hot bath.

  “How was your dinner with the magi, my lady?” asked Anya.

  “Unpleasant,” said Caina, closing her eyes and leaning back, her hair fanning out on the water.

  “Are they truly as wicked as everyone says?” said Anya, voice low.

  “No,” said Caina, glancing at Anya. “They’re actually much worse. I would have gladly skipped the dinner, if not for the obligations of my rank. Stay far away from them, for your own sake.”

  Anya’s eyes got wide, and she nodded.

  Caina brooded. She still felt Kalastus’s clammy palms closing around her breasts, and she wanted to scrub the skin raw. There had been female servants in the Magisterium’s chapterhouse, she remembered. Did Kalastus make a practice of enspelling and abusing them? Caina badly wished that she had killed him last night. It would have destroyed her secrecy, but the man surely deserved it.

  After the bath, she wrapped herself in a heavy robe and went to the sitting room. Julia brought her breakfast. She was eating when Ark returned, still walking with a faint limp.

  “Any luck?” said Caina. She pushed the plate towards him. “Here, eat.”

  “Yes, my lady,” said Ark, taking some cheese and a slice of bread. “It took some asking, and I had to bribe a few people, but I found it. Sister Tadaia pr
eaches to the people every day at noon, in the plaza before the Temple of Living Flame.”

  “The Temple of Living Flame?” said Caina. “I haven’t heard of it.”

  Ark shrugged, took a bite, swallowed. “It’s across the plaza below Narzaiden’s pyramid, in bad part of the city. And it’s not a large building, not compared to the funeral pyramids. A little smaller than the Imperial Basilica. Apparently there used to be a huge Temple, but it was destroyed after Corazain was killed. The governors never let the Saddai build a large one.”

  “Think they’ll attack us?” said Caina.

  “Possibly,” said Ark. “From what I heard, Gaidan always attends the sermons, along with many of his followers. But Tadaia disapproves of them, and she is still higher in the people’s hearts than Gaidan and the Sons of Corazain. I don’t think they’ll try anything with her there.”

  “My lady?” said Cornelia, who had been listening. “Surely you are not going to listen to this Saddai priestess? It is too dangerous to visit the streets.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caina, deciding upon a suitable lie. “You remember when she preached in the square here, below Corazain’s pyramid? She alone in this city cares for the poor and destitute, and her words have touched my heart. I wish to hear more from her.”

  Cornelia looked aghast. “You are not converting to the Saddai faith, my lady? Are you?”

  Caina laughed. “Of course not. But I still wish to hear Tadaia speak.”

  For more reason than one.

  ###

  The coach rattled through Rasadda’s streets, making for the plaza below Narzaiden’s pyramid. Instead of Sairzan’s servant, Ark drove. There was an excellent chance that the Sons of Corazain might attack them, and Caina remembered poor Lasko’s demise. She sat besides Ark on the driver’s seat, clad in a green traveling gown. The long sleeves and skirt concealed the knives strapped to her forearms, and the daggers hidden in her boots. Ark drove with one hand on the reins, the other on the hilt of his broadsword, which was tucked between his knees.

  “Where did you learn to drive a coach?” said Caina.

  “The Legion,” said Ark. “Everyone learns a trade in the Legion.”

  “I thought you were a blacksmith.”

  “Eventually,” said Ark. “I started as a wagon driver and an animal handler. That lasted until the day I accidentally ran over my centurion’s foot.”

  Caina laughed in surprise. “You didn’t!”

  “I did,” said Ark. “He had me beaten, of course, but the men of our century could not stop laughing, so he swore that I would never again handle one of the Legion’s wagons. Instead he sent me to the smithy, and that was that.”

  “I’ll make certain to stand well clear of the coach while you’re driving, then,” said Caina.

  Ark grunted. “That’s not funny.” Caina laughed anyway.

  A short time later they came to the plaza between the Narzaiden’s pyramid and the Temple of Living Flame.

  “So many of them,” murmured Caina.

  Thousands packed the square. Caina saw ragged Saddai peasants, tired and lean, mothers holding infants, and fathers carrying their children on their shoulders. Old men and women leaned on canes, staring at the black, domed temple across the plaza from the burning pyramid. It was an impressive building, the dome perhaps seventy-five yards across.

  “Why don’t they go into the temple?” said Caina.

  “There’s not room,” said Ark. “From what I understand, Sister Tadaia stands upon the stairs and preaches to the crowd.”

  “Ark,” said Caina, “look.”

  Here and there Saddai men stood scattered through the throng. The front of their shirts and vests hung open, revealing the flame tattoo upon their chests. Most of the Saddai paid no attention to the coach, and shuffled out of its way. But the Sons of Corazain glared at them, eyes icy, and many of them wore daggers and short swords on their belts.

  “I see them,” said Ark. “If they want to live, they won’t try anything.”

  “Stop the coach,” said Caina. She grabbed his arm. “Stop the coach! It’s too crowded. If we try to force our way through we’ll touch off a riot.”

  Ark nodded and reined in the horses.

  “We can listen on the roof,” said Caina, “and see better, besides.”

  “And have a better defensive position against anyone who comes at us,” said Ark.

  “That too.” Ark swung up onto the coach’s roof. Caina followed him, her movements hampered by her long skirt. Ark stood, surveying the crowd, while Caina settled cross-legged besides him, throwing knives readily at hand.

  “Look,” said Caina, “there’s Gaidan.” The red-robed priest stood near the steps to the temple, ringed by a dozen thugs. They nodded at his every word. “No doubt he hopes to borrow some of Tadaia’s prestige.”

  One of the nearby Sons of Corazain took a hard look at the coach, turned, and started shoving his way through the crowd. He was heading towards Gaidan, Caina saw. No doubt he went to warn his master that an Imperial noble had come to listen to Tadaia.

  “That fellow, there,” murmured Caina.

  “I saw him,” said Ark.

  “Keep an eye on him,” said Caina. “And Gaidan. If they start coming we may need to leave in a hurry…”

  A hush went over the crowd. Caina looked towards the black-domed temple, saw an old woman hobbling from the doorway, leaning upon a cane, her red robes flapping around her.

  Sister Tadaia.

  “Hear me, my brothers and sisters!” said Tadaia. From a distance, she looked weak and withered, yet her rich voice rolled over the plaza like a thunderclap. “Hear me, I beg, and heed well my words, for the words I speak to you are the words of the Living Flame.”

  She called her god the Living Flame. The Sons of Corazain spoke of the Burning Flame. Caina wondered what the difference was. Though she remembered the terrible story of Corazain’s final spell, and suspected that she knew.

  “I am grateful, so grateful, that you have come on this day,” said Tadaia. “For indeed this world and this life is harsh and full of pain and sorrow. And I know that you suffer, I know it sorely. There is not enough food to be had, despite the grain dole. Our children go hungry. There is no work to be had. We cannot earn enough to buy food for our children.”

  A murmur went through the crowd. Caina saw the Son of Corazain reach Gaidan, saw them speaking together in low voices. Gaidan looked her way, and even across the distance she felt the burning hatred in his gaze.

  “I know that some of you whisper against the Empire,” said Tadaia, her voice pleading. “I know that some of you yearn to take up arms, to rise up against the Lord Governor and throw out the Empire.” The Sons of Corazain raised their arms and cheered. Some of them brandished their swords.

  Tadaia lifted her hands for silence, and the scattered cheers faded. “My brothers and sisters, such a path is folly.” Some of the Sons jeered, and received glares from the other Saddai. “No, hear me! Hear me! If we raise our sword against the Emperor it shall be a time of torment and tribulation such as we have never known. You may not be able to feed your children, but they shall perish if we rebel. Your wife may weep for their suffering, but she shall die in the fire if we revolt. If we rebel, Rasadda will perish, and the destruction shall be even worse than the time of Corazain’s fall.”

  An angry mutter went through the assembled Saddai, but not very loud. Most of them seemed to agree with Tadaia.

  “And we forget who we are,” said Tadaia. “We are the Saddai, the children of the Living Flame. And we forget the purpose of our lives, the purpose of our sufferings. We bathe in the heat of the Living Flame. Our souls are flawed, riddled through with weakness and darkness. Through suffering, our souls are refined, made pure, like steel at the forge. And we shall be reborn, to finally break free of the endless cycle of birth and rebirth, and to at last become one with the Living Flame.”

  “You don’t seem to agree,” said Ark, glancing at Caina.

>   “No,” said Caina. “There is only one mortal life, and then the life beyond death, this I believe. I’ve already endured enough pain in this life. I would not want to repeat it all over again. Would you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Let us aid each other in our sufferings,” said Tadaia. “I am an old woman, and must lean upon my cane to walk.” She thumped it against the black marble stair for emphasis. “So too must we lean upon each other. We must bear our sufferings with joy, and aid each other. For such acts will help the Living Flame to reforge our blackened souls, to burn away the dross until the bright steel shines like the very sun itself.”

  “You disagree?” said Ark.

  Caina nodded. “Too passive. Too…fatalistic. Nihilistic, even. We must all die in the end.” She thought of her of mother, and then of Kalastus. “But I would rather die fighting, rather than to wait feebly for the end to take me.” Her voice hardened. “But at least she cares for the poor of this city. Nicephorus would let them starve, and never lift a finger to help them.”

  “I…” Ark frowned.

  A dozen men pushed and shoved their way through the crowd. Caina saw the flame tattoo upon their chest. They stopped before the coach, glaring up at them, daggers and short swords in hand. Caina stood, looking down at them with a haughty expression as Tadaia continued to expound of upon the virtues of generosity.

  “What do you wish of me?” said Caina. Ark slid his sword from its scabbard with an ominous rasp.

  “You aren’t welcome here,” said one of the Sons of Corazain.

  “We have merely come to hear the Sister of the Living Flame speak,” said Caina. “Surely all are welcome.”

  “All true sons of the Saddai are welcome,” said the leader, “but not the painted whores of the corrupt Empire.”

  “You are mistaken,” said Caina.

  The leader blinked. “What?”

  “I’m not wearing any makeup,” said Caina. “A whore I may be, but painted? I most certainly am not. Use your eyes, man.”

  Ark gaped at her, and she saw Gaidan staring at them from the temple steps. Caina reflected that coming here might not have been the best idea. She looked over the crowd, seeking an exit. They were not all that far from the nearest street. If Ark whipped the horses to a run, they might be able to break free before the mob closed around them…