The Ghosts Omnibus One

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Do not play word games with the Sons of holy Corazain!” thundered the leader, pointing his short sword at her. “Wise men do not trifle with the Burning Flame.”

  “Oh, certainly not,” said Caina, “but you, sir, are more of a sputtering ember than a Burning Flame.”

  “Blasphemer!” shrieked the leader. “Take her, take her, take her now!”

  The Sons of Corazain surged towards the coach. Ark whipped his broadsword around, a thrown dagger bouncing from the blade and falling against the basalt flagstones. Caina dipped her hand into her sleeve, reaching for a knife.

  “And someone continues to abuse the holy flames, to use them to murder,” said Tadaia. “Such an act is a blasphemy against the Living Flame, and…hold! Hold! What is this violence? I said to hold!”

  Her voice cracked with displeasure. The Sons of Corazain froze, looking at Sister Tadaia, and back to Gaidan.

  “There are foreigners among us!” shouted Gaidan, stepping towards Tadaia. “A noblewoman of the Empire and her pet brute. They defile us with their presence, and have come to mock your words. Let them be removed from us!”

  “No!” called Caina in her loudest stage voice. “Hear me!”

  The Saddai looked towards her in sudden shock. Evidently they had not expected her to speak.

  “I have heard the people speak well of Sister Tadaia, of her kindly words and learned wisdom,” said Caina, “and I wished to hear them for myself. For I have traveled to many cities in the Empire, from Marsis in the west to Rasadda in the east, and rarely have I seen anyone who cared so deeply for the widow and the orphan. If I am not welcome, then I shall go, but I thought that to care for the poor was a concern of all men of good heart. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  “Let us eject them!” said Gaidan.

  “No!” said Tadaia, “for they have come in peace. What is your name, young woman?”

  “Marianna, of House Nereide,” said Caina.

  “Please, come hither,” said Tadaia, “for I would speak with you more, and learn the truthfulness or falsity of your words.”

  Caina looked at Ark, and he rammed his sword into its scabbard and clambered down. She started after him, and he reached up and lifted her down. Together they walked through the throng of Saddai to the temple steps. The Saddai parted, staring at them, and Caina walked through them, keeping her face calm. Ark kept pace behind her, his eyes darting back and forth, his hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword.

  Sister Tadaia awaited them. She was in her fifties, perhaps in early sixties, her face lined with care and fatigue. She leaned hard upon her cane, her gray hair floating in the morning breeze. Despite her worn appearance, her green eyes were sharp, almost bright. Caina met them and felt a sudden crawling tingle along her skin. Tadaia had some ability at sorcery. Valgorix had claimed that the priests of the Living Flame could work minor spells. Still, her presence did not have the harsh, snarling power of either Kalastus’s or Ephaeron’s spells.

  And it did not feel the same as the furious spell that had killed Ostros.

  Gaidan stood a short distance away, watching. Again Caina saw the seething hatred in his gaze. She knew that had Tadaia not been present, he would have ordered both her and Ark killed on the spot.

  “Countess,” murmured Tadaia. “You speak with an eloquence that belies your youth.”

  “You are too kind, honored Sister,” said Caina.

  Tadaia’s eyes flicked over her, up and down. They were penetrating, and Caina had that odd feeling that the old woman’s gaze could pierce flesh and bone to view the heart beneath. “Why have you come here? Truly?”

  “Because your concern for the poor has touched me,” said Caina, “and I wished to prove it.” It was not entirely a lie. She reached into her cloak and withdrew the purse from her belt. “Please to take it to buy bread for the hungry.”

  Tadaia took the purse, hefted it, and glanced inside. She seemed surprised at the amount of money within, and turned to face the crowd of Saddai once more. “Let it not be said that all the people of Nighmar are cruel and grasping! For the Countess has seen our plight, and donated a sum of money to help buy bread for the poor. Now go, my brothers and sisters, go and support one another in our sufferings.”

  Most of the Saddai seemed pleased, but the Sons of Corazain looked furious. No doubt taking charity from an Imperial noblewoman insulted their pride. Gaidan continued to glare at her, and Caina was certain that the Sons of Corazain would try to kill her again, soon.

  “This was a noble gift, Countess,” said Tadaia. “Thank you.”

  Caina shrugged. “It is not nearly enough, that is plain.”

  “No,” said Tadaia, “but it is still needed.” She smiled. “Tell me. Have you chosen to convert to our faith? Such is a thing is rare, but it has been known to happen.”

  “No,” said Caina.

  “Ah,” said Tadaia. “Do you have a god, then? Do you pray to the stern gods of the Empire? The storm gods of the Kyracians, perhaps, or the hard and cruel gods of the northerners? Or are you haughty like the magi, certain that the gods are only a crutch for the weak and feeble?”

  “No,” said Caina. “I do not know what gods reign in heaven, or what follows this life. I only try to live as best I can.”

  Tadaia inclined her head. “We are doomed not to just one life but many, to be reborn again and again until our souls may join with the Living Flame.”

  “I disagreed, honored Sister,” said Caina. “There is but this one life, and then eternity. And I am glad of it. One life has enough pain to it; who would want to relive it over and over again.”

  “Pain?” said Tadaia. “Forgive me, but what does an Imperial noblewoman know of pain?”

  “More than you might think,” said Caina.

  Tadaia nodded slowly. “It has been given to me to see the hearts of men. A gift from the Living Flame, though it is often more curse than blessing.” Caina suspected that Tadaia’s gift was a sorcerous ability, but she said nothing. The old woman’s gaze fastened upon Caina, and the gentle prickling against her skin intensified. Her eyes actually seemed to brighten, like pools of liquid jade.

  Tadaia shivered and took a step back, her cane rasping against the marble step.

  Caina wondered, with some unease, just what the old priestess had seen.

  “Yes,” whispered Tadaia, “you know more of pain that I had thought. Much more. And more of many other things.” She shook her head. “Your mind is like ice, cold and hard and sharp, but your heart is filled with pain. And rage, rage like a furnace.”

  Ark grunted. He did not sound impressed.

  Tadaia’s eyes flicked to him. “And you are much the same way. But your pain paralyzes you, leaves you bereft of purpose and will.” Her gaze returned to Caina. “But not you, Countess. Not you. You wield your wrath like a weapon, a brand of fire in your hand. A heart of fire and a mind of ice…you would make a terrible enemy, Countess. A terrible enemy. Who are you, truly?”

  “I told you,” said Caina, putting as much uncertainty into her voice as she could. The priestess’s level of insight had unsettled her. “I am Countess Marianna Nereide. Who else would I be?”

  Tadaia shook her head, and some of the sharpness faded from her eyes. “No one, I suppose. Forgive an old woman’s foolish fancies, I pray. Thank you for the generous gift, Countess. You are right that it will not buy enough bread to feed all those who hunger.” She smiled, some of the lines easing from her face. “But it will still buy quite a lot of bread. And that is by far better than nothing.” She lifted her hand in benediction. “May your pain reforge you in the image of the Living Flame.”

  “the same for you,” said Caina.

  Tadaia smiled, they bowed to each other, and the old woman began limping back towards the temple. Gaidan gave Caina one more venomous glance, then hastened to Tadaia’s side and began whispering in her ear. Caina looked around, saw the crowd dispersing.

  “A crock,” said Ark.

  “Hmm?” said Cain
a, watching Gaidan whisper at Tadaia. The priestess shook her head, making a dismissive gesture.

  “This business about reading your heart,” said Ark. “Any charlatan at a fair can do as much. A cold-read.”

  “I know what a cold-read is,” said Caina.

  “Surely you don’t believe her?” said Ark.

  Caina shrugged. “She has some ability at sorcery, though nothing like what a magus could do. Couldn’t you feel it?”

  Ark shook his head, glanced around, and kept his voice low. “Do you think she is our Ashbringer?” The prospect seemed to displease him. “I would hope not. Despite all her religious mummery, her actions are those of a virtuous woman.”

  “No,” said Caina. “It doesn’t seem to suit her. And I can…feel a spell, for lack of a better word. It makes my skin crawl, my hair stand up. Like a lightning stroke. And the spell that killed Ostros felt nothing like what Tadaia did just now.”

  Tadaia stopped in the entrance to the temple, looked Gaidan full in her face, her expression angry. Their voices rose, and Caina could almost hear them.

  “Wait here,” murmured Caina, and she began walking closer, taking care to keep her footfalls silent. Neither Gaidan nor Tadaia noticed her.

  “It would have been a criminal act,” said Tadaia. “To murder an unarmed woman in our midst. Shall we dishonor ourselves so before the Living Flame? The purpose of our path is to purge our souls of impurities, Gaidan, not to tarnish them further.”

  “And our souls were tarnished by her presence, Sister,” spat Gaidan, his sweating face red with his fury. “Bad enough that Nicephorus rules over us with a crushing hand. Now his whores are to strut among us unchallenged.”

  “She gave us money to buy food for the hungry,” said Tadaia. “That is hardly the act of a whore.”

  Gaidan sneered. “You speak foolishness, Sister. We are to reforge our souls and purge them of dross, yes. But the fire must also cleanse other things. We must rid Rasadda of the Empire and of its vile works.”

  “Now you speak blasphemy!” said Tadaia, rapping the tip of her cane against the steps. “You would follow in the errors of the Ashbringers, who brought our people to ruin and the brink of destruction. You would follow in the path of whatever murderous thug litters the streets with burned corpses.”

  “I told you,” hissed Gaidan, “that these deaths are a sign. A sign that the Saddai shall be ascendant once more. Corazain himself will be reborn, and he will restore our people to their past glory.”

  “Corazain laid Rasadda waste with his pride and his folly, and nearly brought our people to annihilation!” snapped Tadaia. “I will not let you follow his path, and drag our people to ruin.”

  “You should not speak of ‘letting’, Sister,” said Gaidan. “Very soon you will no longer be in a position to dictate to me. I…”

  He blinked, and saw Caina watching them. He sneered at her and stalked into the temple, his red robes swirling around him. Tadaia sighed and continued her tired limp, the cane rapping against the marble steps. Caina watched her go, and then returned to Ark.

  He looked almost amused. “I suppose you learned all sorts of dark secrets.”

  “Eavesdropping is a profitable activity, I’ll have you know,” said Caina. “Tadaia is not behind the murders, I’m almost certain. She rebuked Gaidan for trying to use them to stir up a revolt against the Empire.” She thought for a moment. “Which would imply that he isn’t behind them, either. He’s only trying to exploit them. He may know who’s behind it, though. Remember? He claimed to have spoken with a reborn Corazain, though that might have been a lie. And I’m certain Tadaia knows much more than she happened to mention.”

  “We ought to put Gaidan to the question,” said Ark.

  “Certainly,” said Caina. “Just like Romarion. And if you can figure out a way to get at either of them without getting killed, I’d like to hear it.”

  Ark shook his head.

  “Sister Tadaia, though,” said Caina. She smiled. “I wonder if she’ll be more forthcoming if she receives a visit from a Ghost of the Empire.”

  Chapter 18 - Wrath of the Magi

  They rode back to the Inn of Mirrors, Ark at the reins, Caina sitting besides him. She stared at nothing, rubbing at her father’s ring. Gaidan. Tadaia. Romarion. Nicephorus. Ostros and the Ghosts of Rasadda. Corazain reborn and Saddai statues looted from ancient ruins. So many pieces, and yet she lacked the single piece to bind them together.

  Or perhaps she had all the pieces already, and could not see how to assemble them. The timeline flashed through her head. Romarion had made his fortune selling ancient Saddai artworks to rich Lords and the Magisterium. Then someone started using pyromancy to burn Romarion’s partners alive, and did the same to the Ghosts of Rasadda when they investigated. The Sons of Corazain appeared, agitating for a revolt, and Gaidan claimed to have spoken with Corazain reborn. What tied it all together?

  What was she missing?

  Caina had the vexing feeling that it ought to be obvious, yet she could not…

  Ark hissed and tugged the reins, bringing the coach to a halt.

  “What?” said Caina, snapped out of her thoughts. She half-expected to see a dozen Sons of Corazain running at them. “What is it?”

  “Something’s wrong,” said Ark. “Look.”

  They had reached the plaza before the Inn, and a crowd stood before the doors of the Imperial Basilica. There were the usual ragged Saddai commoners that seemed to turn up for every public disturbance, but Nighmarians in fine clothes stood among the crowd, along with the richer Saddai merchants. A troop of militiamen blocked the doors, and Caina saw the plumed helm of Valgorix himself among them.

  And before them all, Caina saw the black robes of a magus.

  Ark frowned. “What do you think is happening?”

  “Look at them,” said Caina. “Saddai commoners, Saddai merchants, Nighmarians, and militiamen together, and they’re not killing each other. They’re more interested in something else, and that can be only one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Another murder,” said Caina. “Romarion. They must have gotten Romarion.” She slapped the wooden seat in frustration. “If only I had gotten him to talk first! Stop the coach. I want to take a closer look.”

  Ark nodded, and they climbed down and walked towards the crowd. As they drew closer, Caina heard a voice ranting and cursing, and she recognized it with a sudden shock.

  Kalastus.

  “Damn you, Nicephorus!” snarled Kalastus. His deep voice thundered in fury. Caina drew closer, and saw with some satisfaction that Kalastus looked terrible. A livid blue-black bruise covered most of his face, and he paced back and forth before the stairs. Caina wished that she had punched him harder. Or used a dagger. Four black-armored soldiers of the Magisterial Guard flanked him, their expressions cold and hard.

  “I told you to come out!” said Kalastus. “Do you think I will stand for this, Nicephorus? I will not! Come out at once!”

  “What’s happening?” said Caina to one of the onlookers, a Nighmarian-born merchant she remembered from Nicephorus’s banquet.

  He shrugged. “Another of these burning murders, I understand.”

  Caina frowned. “Do you know who…”

  “A brother of the Magisterium lies dead!” thundered Kalastus. “Found burned to death in his own room. You have failed to keep public order, Nicephorus! Come out and answer to me!”

  “A magus?” said Caina, astonished. “A magus was murdered?”

  “So I’ve heard,” said the Nighmarian merchant.

  Caina shared a look with Ark. A magus had been found burned to death? But why? Had Ephaeron’s investigation gotten too close to the truth? Would the pyromancer start slaughtering the magi one by one? But surely the magi were powerful enough to protect themselves from hostile sorcery. For that matter, how had the pyromancer collected the dead magus’s blood for the spell? If neither Kalastus nor Ephaeron were the Ashbringer, could one of the lesser broth
ers have turned to forbidden arts?

  “I said to come out!” shrieked Kalastus, and Caina’s skin crawled as the magus began to draw in power.

  “Learned master,” said Valgorix, stepping closer to the enraged magus, “the Lord Governor comes and goes as he pleases. He will see you, but at his convenience…”

  “Silence!” said Kalastus. He made a gesture. There was a thunderclap, and Valgorix and his militiamen stumbled back a few steps, their cloaks billowing in a brief wind. “Do not think to give me orders, do not presume! I will speak to Nicephorus, or by the gods I’ll spill your blood upon the ground!”

  The doors to the Basilica swung open, and Nicephorus marched out, flanked by bodyguards. The Lord Governor wore his black finery and crimson cloak, and glared down at Kalastus with all the hauteur of his rank. Yet Caina saw the faint trembling in Nicephorus’s hands, the tightness around his eyes.

  The Lord Governor was afraid.

  “Well, learned master,” he spat, “you have summoned me and I have come. What is your business with me?”

  “Last night one of the brothers of the Magisterium was found burned to death in his bed,” said Kalastus, stepping closer to Nicephorus. “What have you to say about this travesty?”

  Nicephorus shrugged. “Perhaps you ought to be more attentive to your security.”

  “This is your failure!” screamed Kalastus, shoving a finger into Nicephorus’s chest. The bodyguards reached for their weapons, but Kalastus did not notice or did not care. “You have failed to keep public order in this hive of rabble, and now one of my brothers lies dead for your errors!”

  “My errors?” said Nicephorus. “Perhaps the magus simply miscast a spell and burned himself alive. Such things have been known to happen, have they not?”

  “The Magisterium does not make mistakes,” said Kalastus. “And this failure is yours, fool.”